Unintended Consequences 2
by zgirnius
Summary: Snape has been Dumbledore's spy for months, when Voldemort gives him new orders. Is his betrayal of the Dark Lord suspected?This story was written between HBP and DH. It is now AU.
1. A New Assignment

**Chapter 1: A New Assignment**

The long-disused barn was stuffy with the August heat, and Severus Snape was sweating under his black mask and hood as he waited to speak to the Dark Lord. He felt confident that even under his mask, his face showed none of the nervousness he felt at the prospect. The Dark Lord had been angry tonight. His frustration at his inability to trap the Potters, and the losses of a few key Death Eaters over the past months to arrests or battles with the Order of the Phoenix had been apparent.

Snape recognized that it was his efforts that had made these irritants possible. It was a source of no little satisfaction to him, though always mingled with disappointment that he had failed thus far to identify the traitor who had, on at least one notable occasion, betrayed the location of the Potters' hiding place. Try as he might, he could not return to them the relative safety they had enjoyed before he had chosen to report Trelawney's prophecy. Ruthlessly, Snape suppressed that thought. This was no time to wallow in guilt, however deserved. It seemed he would be facing the Dark Lord one-on-one shortly. To survive such an encounter yet again, he had to be in complete control of his emotions, allowing nothing to peek through that was not safe for the Dark Lord to see.

For, at the end of the meeting, The Dark Lord had ordered five of them, Snape included, to stay behind. In the eerie light cast by green globes of fire that floated among the rafters of the barn, Snape could see the Dark Lord speaking to one of his fellows. The Death Eater the Dark Lord had summoned to him first appeared to be in favor, judging from his body language. He seemed confident and at ease. Snape could not hear what was being said, but took a careful look at the man. He was pretty sure he had heard the man speak earlier, as he had entered the barn. He had thought at the time the voice sounded familiar. It sounded like a guest at one of Lucius's parties at Malfoy Manor. A Ministry employee, Algernon? August? Something like that, Rookwood. He would pass his suspicion on to Dumbledore tomorrow, of course.

The man knelt to kiss the Dark Lord's robes, and, Snape was surprised to see, the Dark Lord raised him back up, permitting him to walk away. That was a highly unusual indication of the Dark Lord's favor. Snape's musings were interrupted when he saw the Dark Lord was gesturing for him to approach.

Hastily, Snape strode over to face the Dark Lord, composing his mind one final time in preparation.

"Master," he said respectfully, as he dropped to a knee and bowed his head. As the Dark Lord acknowledged his bow, he stood back up.

"Snape," Voldemort hissed softly. "I have an assignment for you. You are to obtain the position of Defense Against Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts." The Dark Lord had seen the shock he permitted himself to show in his mind, Snape thought, because a cruel smile twisted the Dark Lord's snakelike face.

"Surprised?" Voldemort continued with a mirthless laugh. "Dumbledore is behind our recent troubles, I am certain. I want to get someone close to the meddlesome old fool. The position is open, and you are qualified. You are not suspected – the old man let you go, after you heard the prophecy."

"I shall apply immediately, Master," Snape said automatically, as he considered this order.

In a way, it made sense: he had an Outstanding NEWT in that subject, and the position was open, as it seemed to be every year. Although he had no experience (that he could publicly admit) in the area. A far greater obstacle, as the Dark Lord well knew, should have been that Albus Dumbledore would know that he was the source of the Dark Lord's knowledge of the blasted prophecy, for only he and Dumbledore had heard any part of it. Everyone knew that Dumbledore would never hire a man with any association to the Dark Lord. He was reluctant to bring it up, but…it was illogical to expect Dumbledore to hire him.

"My Lord," he began, his decision made, "after the failed raid in October, Dumbledore must know that you heard of the prophecy. I was the only other witness to it."

The Dark Lord's eyes blazed dangerously. Snape felt fear well up in him; he made no effort to suppress it, instead permitting himself to remember the Dark Lord's anger at himself and the others at their failure.

"I ask myself," Voldemort said quietly, "how Albus Dumbledore came to know that you heard the prophecy."

He had escaped punishment for his mistake in allowing himself to be seen by the barman at the Hog's Head, back when he had originally reported the prophecy. Now, however, the Dark Lord was looking for a target on which to vent his frustration. Snape could see no profit in self-justification; opposition, he judged, would only serve to increase the Dark Lord's wrath.

"It was due to my mistake, Master," he said quietly, his body tensing in anticipation of what was coming.

"I am pleased you understand that," Voldemort said in a high, cold voice, "but you must learn caution if you are to serve me as a spy at Hogwarts."

Raising his wand, he said clearly, "Crucio!"

Snape fell to the ground as the spell hit him, the pain coursing through him shocking in its intensity, despite his prior experience of the Dark Lord's wrath. He felt his carefully maintained mental shield collapse as the agony continued unabated. As suddenly as it had begun, the pain ceased, leaving Snape curled up protectively and gasping for breath.

Voldemort loomed over him, a cruel smile distorting his thin lips as he watched Snape slowly start to pick himself up off the ground.

"I don't think you have quite learned your lesson," he said, and his red eyes glowed as he again raised his wand.

The second time the pain receded, Snape fought to control his breath enough to speak. "Master," he forced out. "I will...be careful."

Voldemort's high, cold laugh echoed in the in the emptiness of the barn. Before Snape could add anything further, he was again engulfed in Voldemort's spell. He lost all track of how long this continued, of the pleas and promises he made in a vain attempt to appease the Dark Lord. At the last, as he again felt the pain stop, and fought to articulate an apology, the Dark Lord interrupted him with a sharp command.

"Get up!" he said abruptly. Snape tried to get to his hands and knees, but his arms were shaking so badly that he fell back down. The Dark Lord came closer and kicked him as a master might a dog. "Up!"

This additional urging changed nothing. Much though he feared the consequences of any disobedience, he simply could not force his body into compliance.

"Very well," Voldemort said coldly, looking down at Snape. "I accept your apology. Because I am magnanimous, I shall give you the chance for which you begged. You admit your mistake; you may rectify it by accomplishing your mission. I suggest you think of a way around any suspicions Dumbledore may have, if you do not wish another lesson."

"Get him out of my sight!" Voldemort ordered two of the remaining Death Eaters.

Roughly, they hauled Snape up by his upper arms and started to drag him away. As they approached the door, he managed to get his feet under him. With a heave, the others threw him out the door. He fought desperately to keep his footing, and managed to stay upright long enough to collapse against the rough wooden planking of the door. If he fell down again, he was not sure he would be able to get back up on his own.

Gradually, his ragged breathing grew more even. He forced himself to take long, slow breaths, and was rewarded as the thumping of his heart, too, gradually subsided to a more normal beat. Encouraged, he tried an experimental step. He found that he could, now, slide along the wall. Carefully, he turned the corner and continued down the long side of the barn. Reaching the end, he stopped to look around.

While there had been several meetings in this location, Snape had never before paid much attention to the surroundings, as he always arrived and departed by Apparating. Disapparition in his present state, he decided, was simply out of the question. His examination of his surroundings, however, suggested an alternate plan. The light of the stars and crescent moon revealed the presence of a wooded area some distance behind the barn.

If he could manage to walk across the field into the trees, he might find a bush to curl up under and rest until he felt sufficiently well to Apparate. It seemed a far more attractive option than staying near the barn. He wished to avoid being seen by anybody who was still inside it

Carefully, he took a small step away from the wall, and found his legs were now willing to support him, though they still felt shaky. Slowly, he staggered across the field and into the woods. Encouraged by this success, he decided to continue and worked his way farther and farther into the woods. As he walked, the trembling of his body subsided and he began to move more freely. With every step, the knowledge that he was further away from the Dark Lord made him feel calmer, and safer. This feeling was not rational, he knew, merely an illusion, but one he sorely needed, at the moment.

Snape did not know how long he had been walking, when he found himself suddenly at the edge of the trees. For a moment, his mind refused to believe what he was seeing, because it meant that he would not, in fact, have to spend the night outside. He was standing on a grassy border between the trees and a country road. Quickly, he tucked away his mask and hood, and ascertained that he did, indeed, have enough money in his pockets. Then he lit his wand to see what he could do to make himself presentable. With a few passes, he got the worst of the dirt and dust of the barn floor off his black robes and out of his hair. It would have to do. Standing at the edge of the road, he extended his wand.

Some thirty seconds later, with an emphatic BANG and a blinding flash of light, a purple triple-decker bus pulled up on the road beside him. Its door opened and Snape entered. His eyes still unused to the light, he nearly tripped over the first step, then righted himself.

"Steady, there!" said the conductor, a round-faced young witch in a purple uniform. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard-"

"Diagon Alley, please. How much will it be?" Snape interrupted her well-rehearsed welcome as he stopped in front of her.

"Twenty Sickles, but for twenty-two we throw in a hot chocolate, and for twenty-four-" she responded.

"No chance of a firewhiskey instead?" Snape inquired, cutting her spiel off again as he fished out a Galleon and three Sickles and handed it to her.

"Say, you look like you've already 'ad enough," said the young witch, accepting the money with a suspicious look. "'Ow did you end up 'ere in the middle of nowhere, anyway?" Well, if she attributed his appearance to drinking, he could play along.

"I don't even know where here is," he said truthfully, taking a lurching step towards the stairs to the second level. Several of the beds on the first deck were occupied by wakeful passengers, and he wished to avoid conversation. Deliberately, he missed the first step and barely caught himself on the brass banister of the spiral staircase. "Blasted step moved on me," he muttered belligerently, as he made a show of dragging himself clumsily up the stairs.

"Bloody sot," the witch whispered to the driver behind Snape's back. "Could you move on up so's we could drive on?" she added to Snape. He ignored her and continued up the stairs.

As he reached the second deck, the bus lurched abruptly into motion with another loud BANG, and Snape was thrown against the wood-paneled wall. He ducked just in time to avoid hitting his head on a bracket holding a lit candle. Since the bed next to it was unoccupied, he sat down on it and looked around. Scattered about the bus were five other beds, each with identical brass headboards and purple coverlets. Mercifully, only the one at rear of the bus was occupied, by a loudly snoring witch or wizard who had his coverlet pulled over his head.

A good idea, that, he decided, in case the next passenger to choose the second deck was a more garrulous type. He lay down and curled up with his cover pulled over his head as well.

He wondered whether he had truly angered the Dark Lord with his observation. With some time and distance, he was beginning to think that perhaps his comment had not, after all, been a big mistake on his part. Perhaps the Dark Lord's anger was part of a larger plan. Certainly, he had chosen to talk to a highly favored Death Eater first, and had made sure his audience knew it. He had chosen to speak to Snape immediately afterwards, providing a rather marked contrast for the audience, reminding them both of the possibility of winning the Dark Lord's favor, and the price of failing him.

But that would mean that the Dark Lord had already decided to punish him in advance. Why? It came at the same time as his new order. Snape felt confident that Dumbledore would give him the job, if he presented the problem to him in the right way. After the night's events, a part of him very much longed to do just that. At the same time, Snape was also getting a feeling that the Dark Lord was pushing him, hard, to get the job. Yet the Dark Lord could not know how easily he might attain the position, surely? What would the Dark Lord conclude, if Snape did obtain it?

In all honesty, Snape realized, he simply did not have the emotional distance to evaluate the situation objectively. To his disgust, the memory of lying helplessly on the ground, being kicked like a dog, and threatened came back vividly each time he considered the courses of action open to him. He would not let his fear make the choice for him, he decided. He was meeting with Dumbledore anyway. He would lay out the situation, share his own suspicions, and see what Dumbledore made of it. If that turned out to mean returning to the Dark Lord with empty hands…he would deal with that when the time came.

His mind made up, he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, but memories kept intruding. To pass the time as the bus stopped and started along its erratic course, he thought ahead to the potions he would be making at work in the morning. Running lists of ingredients and directions through his head was certainly preferable to remembering the events of the night.

Suddenly, he felt a hand in his shoulders. Startled, he sat bold upright, his hand shooting towards his wand until he realized it was just the conductor.

"We're stopped at Diagon Alley," she said.

"Thanks," he replied as he stood up and followed her down the spiral staircase. He exited the bus in front of the Leaky Cauldron. The Muggle bookshop and record store on either side of the shabby old inn were long since closed, and the street was empty. Snape stepped into the pub. From his previous experience of the Cruciatus Curse, he knew sleep would prove as elusive at home as it had on the Knight Bus. Perhaps if he helped it along…

He stepped into the pub and approached the bar.

"What'll you have?" asked the barkeeper indistinctly.

"A double firewhiskey, please," Snape responded.

After paying for his drink, Snape tossed it down in two large gulps, ignoring the burning sensation in his throat and stomach, and put down his glass. In the absence of a more specific potion, he hoped it would serve. He left the bar through the back door and headed for home.


	2. A Clever Man's Idea

**Chapter 2: A Clever Man's Idea**

As the sunlight peeking around the shade on the one window in the room became too bright to ignore any longer, Snape gave up on his futile attempts to get back to sleep. The firewhiskey he had consumed just before bed had indeed allowed him to drift off to sleep for a while, but it had been a fitful sleep interrupted by nightmarish replays of the night's events. Now that it was becoming light in his room, he knew that he would not be able to return to sleep. Rolling over away from the wall, he swung his legs over the edge of the narrow wrought-iron bedstead and sat up. Elbows on knees, his eyes shut, he waited for the pounding in his head to subside. As it slowly receded to a dull ache, he opened his eyes and stared down at the dull, ancient finish of the hardwood floor.

A grimace contorted his thin lips as he straightened his back, greasy hair parting to reveal his too-pale face. He tried to remind himself that the string of Death Eater arrests and failed raids, and especially the Dark Lord's failure to kill the Potters were good things. Things he had worked hard to accomplish. Just now, though, he was finding it difficult to summon up any enthusiasm for an activity that led him to feel as he did this morning.

Placing one hand on the headboard for balance, Snape stood up, and again waited for the resulting throbbing in his head to pass. At least another hour remained until Madam Sophronia would open her shop. Not that he was at all eager to work. Getting his hands on some of her stock, though, was something to look forward to. Certain things, he realized, he ought not to be without, in the future.

Slowly and carefully, Snape walked past the bed to the battered old wardrobe that stood in the corner opposite his desk. He grabbed a towel off its shelf and went to grab his bathrobe, but then thought better of it. The rumpled robes he has been wearing since yesterday would do for now. A warm shower might actually help him to feel marginally less awful, he thought as he opened the door into the hallway. He hoped that the shower on his floor would be free - the thought of stairs was daunting.

After showering and getting dressed for work, Snape decided to risk the stairs. If he climbed down at a deliberate pace, he found, the throbbing did not return. As he stepped out onto Knockturn Alley, he saw that Madam Sophronia had not yet arrived. Regretfully, he passed by her shop and into Diagon Alley, in search of a cup of coffee to drink while he waited.

Once he got back from the Leaky Cauldron, gratefully sipping his coffee, he saw the shop was open. Stepping in, he wished Madam Sophronia a good morning and walked back to the workshop. He took a vial of Strengthening Solution off its shelf and tossed it back, washing it down with coffee, before walking over to the worktable on which he had left several potions simmering overnight.

As he adjusted the flame under the various cauldrons, and made minor adjustments to the ingredients, he started thinking about improving the Strengthening Solution. It needed something to soothe the nerves, and induce sleep. Combinations of ingredients were not suggesting themselves this morning, however. He could feel his body moving more easily as the potion began to take effect, but his brain was still moving as if through a fog. Tomorrow, he might get somewhere.

Madam Sophronia bustled in from the front room.

"I received a couple more orders by Owl this morning, Severus," she said. "Here, I'll just leave them for you," she added, tacking the papers up on the corkboard above the opposite worktable.

Snape walked over to take a look. His employer tsked disapprovingly as she got a better look at his face.

"Young people!" she exclaimed. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, a trifle inaccurately.

Madam Sophronia rolled her eyes and hurried back out of the workroom as the bell on the front door announced the arrival of the day's first customers. Snape snatched an order off the board and started to collect the ingredients he would need.

At noon, Snape took the cauldron he had been working on off the flame and set it aside to cool while he was away. Mopping his brow, for it was already very hot in the back room, he walked into the shop.

"Off to lunch, Severus?" asked Madam Sophronia.

"Yes, Ma'am," Snape replied. "I might be a bit late getting back," he reminded her.

"I didn't leave anything brewing that will need attention until I return."

"That's right, you mentioned it yesterday. Say, would you mind stopping by the Owl Post Office in Hogsmeade for me, while you are out?" she asked. "I forgot to send this earlier, and my owl is on an overseas trip." Snape took the offered envelope.

"Certainly. Will regular Owl Post do?" he inquired.

"That will do fine, yes," she said. "Thank you. And enjoy lunch!"

Snape walked out the door and Disapparated, arriving first in Hogsmeade, where he sent off Madam Sophronia's letter and checked his own box. No letters – so his meeting with Dumbledore was still on. The thought that someone might be keeping an eye on his movements crossed his mind as he left the post office. Paranoia was a classic side effect of the Cruciatus Curse, he knew, yet he had relied successfully on his instincts in the past…it couldn't hurt to be cautious. There was no acceptable reason for him to be meeting with Dumbledore this soon after receiving his new assignment. He Apparated, taking special care to do so quietly.

He reappeared with just a whisper of sound behind a skip in an alley. Waving his wand, he transfigured his robes into Muggle attire - faded dungarees, graying t-shirt, and scuffed leather jacket. After returning his wand to an inner pocket of the jacket, he stepped out into the alley and walked towards the street beyond. Turning left, he walked a block and found himself in Leicester Square, already teeming with tourists and the lunchtime crowd. It seemed that nobody was following. He strolled through the crowd, stopping on a couple of occasions in front of cinemas as if to read the listings, unobtrusively checking behind him in the glass windows as he did.

At the opposite end of the square, he headed towards the tube station and turned into the narrow street to the right of the station entrance. Ducking into the alcove of one of the little shops along the street, he Disapparated.

He reappeared, in another alley. Hurriedly, he walked out of the alley and around the corner to a seedy little Muggle pub, for he was running late. The door, its flaking green paint looking more sordid than ever in the harsh light of the August sun, was open. Inside, a large fan in the bar did little more than create eddies in the cigarette smoke that hung thickly in the air.

Albus Dumbledore sat hunched over his ale, his blue eyes darting sideways occasionally to check the time. His fine, antique gold watch and his half-moon glasses contrasted oddly with his purple-flower print Hawaiian shirt and cotton trousers, but the regulars at the pub were by now accustomed to the oddities of Dumbledore's fashion sense. Two baskets of fish-and-chips were slowly congealing on the table in front of him.

Though the fan on the bar did nothing to dispel the heat and humidity, it was not the August heat that caused Dumbledore's impatience. Severus Snape, over the course of several months always punctual to a fault, was already fifteen minutes late for their meeting.

There were, he reminded himself again, many completely innocuous reasons Severus might be late, yet his misgivings remained. A week ago, he had learned from Severus of a planned Death Eater raid. This in itself was not that unusual a circumstance, but the manner in which Severus had learned of it had seemed fortuitous. Perhaps, in hindsight, too much so? Severus had not been a participant in the raid, nor had he overheard it. Rather, a guest at a small dinner party had let something slip. The guest might have had a trifle too much of the elf-made wine from Malfoy Manor's famed cellars. Yet letting information slip was also a way to narrow down the location of a suspected leak. The problem was all too familiar to Dumbledore himself, as he strove, thus far with limited success, to discover the identity of the spy he knew was in the Order.

Dumbledore had acted on the information despite his misgivings; a young mother with two small children was alive today because he had. After all Severus had tried to do over the past months, though, Dumbledore was not willing to continue exposing him to the danger of discovery if it became clear Voldemort's suspicions were aroused. The Order had ways to hide a man more completely than anyone suspected. He resolved he would bring the matter up with Snape, today.

The sunlight streaming in through the open door was blocked momentarily, and Dumbledore saw with relief that it was Severus. He wore his habitual Muggle outfit of old dungarees and t-shirt with a leather jacket. Probably quite uncomfortable in the heat, Dumbledore thought with a twinge of sympathy, but the odd 'tattoo' on Severus's forearm would attract notice even in this place. He waved him over to the table. As Snape approached, Dumbledore noted that he was moving somewhat stiffly, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Snape saw that Dumbledore had already ordered for them both. The sour ale he had, after a few months, learned to tolerate, and a large basket of fish and chips awaited him. His appearance and his look of disgust did not escape Dumbledore, Snape could see. Little did.

"Good to see you, Severus," said Dumbledore with a smile, and a depth of sincerity that gave Snape a twinge of guilt at the lateness of his arrival.

"Good day, sir," he responded as he took a seat. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"I can see the meeting went badly last night. I want to hear all about it, but you need to eat something," said Dumbledore, popping a chip in his mouth. Seeing there was no avoiding it, Snape took a bite of his fish. Very greasy and over salted, but as he swallowed it, he realized he really was hungry.

"The Dark Lord is displeased," Snape said, before taking another bite. Dumbledore waited for him to continue.

"He spoke at length about the bad luck we have been having," Snape added.

"Did he mention any suspicions?" Dumbledore inquired, remembering the promise to himself he had made just before Severus had finally turned up. Snape, who had taken another bite as Dumbledore spoke, shook his head as he hastily swallowed a chip before responding.

"No. He introduced a new emphasis on learning information, trying to turn spies, and infiltrating the Order and Ministry," Snape explained. He stopped to take another bite and wash it down with ale.

"The Dark Lord asked several of us, including me, to stay and receive special assignments," Snape continued. "I am almost certain one was Rookwood, a Ministry employee of some sort, whom I have met at Malfoy Manor."

Dumbledore nodded encouragement as he tucked into his fish.

"I could not hear what was said," Snape continued. "He spoke with Rookwood first. The Dark Lord seemed to make a point of making it clear he favored Rookwood, though. He exempted him from kissing the hem of his robe in the usual way."

"Do you know who the others were?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, I don't know them," Snape said. "I will try to learn more about them as the opportunity presents itself."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "So, what happened next?"

"He called me up to speak with him," Snape said. He took a sip of ale before continuing, "I have a strange new assignment: to obtain the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's glance sharpened and his brow furrowed in thought. Strange indeed.

Snape took another bite of his lunch before continuing, "He said I should be able to get the job – there are few candidates, and the fact that you let me go after I heard the Prophecy means that you do not associate me with the Death Eaters."

Snape took a sip of ale, and then placed the glass back on the table and stared at it for a moment.

"It does not make sense," Snape said. He shook his head. "This was true, once. But since I am the only one beside you to have heard the Prophecy, and the Dark Lord now clearly knows it, you would know that the information came from me," Snape explained. The logic still seemed clear to him.

"So you would not hire me," Snape concluded. Dumbledore nodded. That was true. He _would_ hire Snape, but never a man he suspected of connections to Voldemort. Dumbledore waited for him to continue.

"I explained my reasoning to him," Snape said. He looked at the glass again and absently cupped it in his hands. With a reluctance Dumbledore did not miss, he continued, "The Dark Lord became furious with me for having been caught eavesdropping." He paused, his hands clenching.

"After, he told me I was to get the job, or there would be worse," he finished matter-of-factly.

Dumbledore did not press him for the details. Whatever had happened, it was doubtless the reason for his reluctance to speak of that evening.

"So you think we should get you the job," Dumbledore said. With a reassuring smile, he added, "That wouldn't be a problem-"

"I don't know," Snape interrupted him, shaking his head. "The Dark Lord should not believe that you would hire me. He could just be angry with me, but why now? I have a feeling…he's pushing me to get the job, for some reason. Perhaps I am just getting overly suspicious. I Apparated three times on my way here…"

Dumbledore looked at him, considering what Severus had said. "Hmm," he said, before popping a couple more chips into his mouth.

Severus had proved to be an impressively talented student at Occlumency, and was at this point nigh impossible for Dumbledore to read, magically, at any rate. However, his mannerisms, though he fought to control them, revealed his fear. Was this feeling his fear speaking? Yet, yesterday, the young man had presumed to give the Dark Lord a lesson in logic…

"The Dark Lord knows he has given me a scare. He wants to see what I'll do. But I'm not sure what he will conclude if I succeed. If he has suspicions, it might allay them if I fail him in this," Snape explained. Dumbledore saw his hands tense again as he spoke, but his voice remained steady. No, this was definitely his rational side speaking, Dumbledore judged.

"I have had the feeling he suspects a leak in his organization," Dumbledore agreed, "after you so conveniently learned the details of that planned raid last week. It may be time for us to stop. I've not mentioned it before – but, through the Order, I have the means to hide you, rather more completely than you might believe."

"I can still be useful," Snape objected immediately. Perhaps, later, once the Dark Lord's spy in the Order was unmasked…. Snape shoved the thought aside ruthlessly and continued, "I may be out of favor with the Dark Lord however we handle this matter of the teaching position. But that could change, and there are other Death Eaters, to learn things from-"

"Very well, I wanted to make the offer," Dumbledore said. "So, then, were there any further occurrences of note at yesterday's meeting?"

"I," Snape paused, looking for the right euphemism, before remembering his promise to give Dumbledore accurate accounts of his interactions with the Dark Lord, "was thrown out after receiving my orders." He realized suddenly that yesterday, preoccupied with his own difficulties, he had not attempted to write down a detailed account of the meeting. It was his usual practice, and it had permitted him and Dumbledore to deduce the identities of some Death Eaters in the past.

"I don't have a report written up," he added.

"You say you were thrown out. Does this have any special significance, do you think?" Dumbledore asked. Snape took a large gulp of his ale.

"I think it was simply because I was unable to get up when the Dark Lord dismissed me," he said flatly.

"A reasonable supposition," Dumbledore agreed. Not to mention an excellent explanation of his failure to write up a report, as was his usual practice.

Considering all he had heard, Dumbledore leaned back and drank some of his ale. Would hiring Severus appease Voldemort's anger, or would it rouse even more dangerous suspicions of his loyalties? He had already chosen a teacher from the meager pile on his desk for the Defense job, and Severus was clearly at least as capable. No problems on that account. Of course, there was also the issue of the curse. If Severus's success did not rouse Voldemort's suspicions, the revelation of his spying at some point later in the year seemed a likely outcome. Sending Severus back empty-handed was an option, he had suggested it himself, but if it could be avoided….

"I have an idea, about your problem," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence that had fallen after Snape finished his account of the Death Eater meeting. Snape sat up, his eyes intent on Dumbledore.

"I don't want to send you back to Voldemort empty-handed," Dumbledore began. "On the other hand, I see your point about the possibility the assignment is a test, possibly a follow-up to last week's leaked information, if that was deliberate."

"I see a way to reduce the risk of hiring you," he continued. "To make it seem I was forced into it by circumstances. Horace has been making noises about retiring for some time now. He's an old friend; I can lean on him to retire now. Perhaps we could sell the idea that hiring you is a desperate temporary move to solve my staffing problem, while I conduct a proper search for an experienced person to take over for Slughorn." As he voiced the idea, he realized it had additional benefits that had not initially occurred to him. Hiring him for Potions would also open up the possibility to keep Severus at Hogwarts longer that a year, if Voldemort's suspicions continued.

"You mean to hire me for Potions?" Snape asked, surprised.

"And Acting Head of House. Professor Vector has always made it abundantly clear she is _not_ interested in that position, preferring to have more free time for her research. That's why it will work; there might be someone else in the small pile of applications I have sitting in my office who is qualified to teach Potions as well as Defense, but the odds that there is one who was in Slytherin are low. Horace will recommend you. Yes, I like it," Dumbledore finished.

Snape found himself, momentarily, at a loss for words. Dumbledore was serious; he did not doubt it. A memory of the Potions classroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts rose in his mind. He pictured himself standing in the front of the classroom…he could do it, he really could. It was not something to which he had aspired, but then, neither was working in Madam Sophronia's shop. At least, in his classroom, Potions would be made _his_ way.

"But," Snape objected half-heartedly, "Head of House? The older students there went to school with me!"

"I seem to recall," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling, "that you were not entirely happy with the way the position was handled in the past. This year would be your chance to show how it should be done."

Snape felt his face heating at the oblique reference to his one schoolday discussion with the Headmaster and his Head of House. It was a memory he preferred to forget. Snape changed the subject.

"The other heads are all twice as old as I," he said. Three times, for most of them, he did not add. "The Board of Governors will surely question the appointment?"

"Hmm, yes," Dumbledore agreed with a smile. As he and Snape examined all the angles, he was beginning to think that this idea was a clever one, even for him. "A group of the Board's members _have_ been causing me some problems. I think you have just the right connections to solve them for me, however." His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

Of course, Snape realized. Lucius Malfoy would oppose Dumbledore's wishes for the school out of both spite and political conviction. But perhaps not in this case….

"It is Malfoy that needs to be handled, then?" Snape asked.

"Indeed. I have almost all the votes I would need on the Board. With the addition of his party, the appointment would sail through," Dumbledore explained.

"Then I'll send in a letter applying for the Defense position this evening," Snape said, "and get to work on Lucius."

"And I will get to work on managing the matter from my end," Dumbledore agreed.


	3. A Favor From a Friend

**Chapter 3: A Favor from a Friend**

The elegant ballroom was resplendent tonight with the light of hundreds of candles. Their flames reflected off the crystal chandelier and the crystal sconces that adorned the damask-covered walls at regular intervals. The guests, witches and wizards in colorful dress robes, variously stood near tables laden with an assortment of Muggle and Wizarding delicacies, or sat on the padded benches that lined the walls, or gathered near the champagne fountain. The genteel sounds of an enchanted harp drifted in from the adjacent music room.

Severus Snape, standing near the wall on the fringes of a group of guests, felt horribly out of place, a feeling he ruthlessly suppressed. He felt exposed with his hair pulled back from his face, and uncomfortable in the second-hand dress robes he had had cleaned and pressed for the occasion. At least he had managed to find some in black. That he in fact lacked an invitation to this soiree only increased his unease.

Lucius had, actually, invited him verbally, a couple of evenings before the last Death Eater meeting. However, after his public humiliation by the Dark Lord, no paper invitation had ever arrived. It had become clear to Snape after a couple of attempts to meet him that Lucius was avoiding him deliberately. After all, he did not seem able, at present, to reflect any credit back on Lucius, Snape thought, his lips twisting bitterly.

So Snape had changed tactics. He had simply shown up tonight, and informed Dobby, the Malfoys' House Elf, that Lucius had invited him. Snape's status as a regular visitor, and the possibility of offering him an insult which Dobby's master might not intend, must have outweighed the lack of an invitation. Dobby had, after a fearful moment of deliberation, allowed him in. The elf had apparently received no special instructions regarding Snape. The next trick was going to be to get a few minutes of Lucius's time, alone.

Narcissa Malfoy, wearing a shimmering robe in varied shades of blue, swept in from the music room. She stopped to smile at a Ministry official and exchange pleasantries with his wife. When she set off towards the long buffet table at the far end of the ballroom, Snape stepped quickly away from the wall and blocked her path.

"Good evening, Narcissa," he said, with a forced smile.

"Severus," she responded with a smile that did not quite reach her icy blue eyes. "What a surprise. Lucius had not mentioned that you were coming."

"My apologies," Snape responded silkily. "He invited me a couple of weeks ago; it must have slipped his mind. If I might speak to him for a moment, I would not presume to disarrange your guest list any longer." Narcissa gave him a considering look, but apparently she, too, had not been given any specific instructions.

"Lucius is in the cellar, selecting a wine cask to open for our guests," Narcissa said. "You might be able to catch him before he comes back."

"Thank you," he said with a slight bow. "If you will excuse me…."

"Goodbye, Severus," Narcissa said, continuing towards the buffet as Snape headed for the exit.

The one entrance he was aware of to the cellar was accessible from a corridor off the main entranceway for the manor. He made his way briskly thence, stopping once to exchange a curt greeting with a late-arriving guest.

The large oak door swung soundlessly open at his touch to reveal a flight of stone steps, which Snape quickly descended. Turning to his left, he passed a couple of closed doors and arrived at the wine cellar. Lucius was inside, apparently having just made his choice.

"Flagrate!" Lucius said, pointing his wand at an old and dusty barrel. A glowing red 'X' appeared on it.

"Good evening, Lucius," Snape said as he entered.

Lucius spun about, wand in hand. He glared at Snape.

"Narcissa said you would be down here," Snape explained calmly. "I told her I needed a moment of your time."

Lucius lowered his wand, but his expression grew no friendlier.

"I have nothing to say to you, Severus, I am sorry. You will have to leave," Lucius said firmly.

"The business regarding which I must speak with you, Lucius, is not my own," Snape said forcefully. "It is on the Dark Lord's business that I am here."

"The Dark Lord is angry with you, Severus," Lucius said. "I am not stupid enough to try and talk him out of his wrath."

"The attention of the Dark Lord is a double-edged sword," Snape responded. "The price of failure is high, but in the event of a success the rewards are correspondingly greater."

Lucius said nothing, a small, knowing smile playing about on his lips.

"The Dark Lord has given me an important assignment-"

"I cannot help you obtain the Defense position at Hogwarts, Severus," Lucius said. Indeed. Lucius might have no use for him at present, but he was still, it seemed, a worthwhile audience for Lucius to impress with his secret knowledge of the Dark Lord's plans. A chink in Lucius's armor that Snape would be happy to use against his unreliable friend.

"You are, as always, well-informed about the Dark Lord's intentions, I see," Snape said, with a condescending smile. If he was going to make Lucius hear him out, he could show no uncertainty. For the first time, doubt crept into Lucius's eyes. Lucius had clearly expected his last remark to be an unpleasant surprise, Snape deduced, and was puzzled at his reaction.

"I have no influence with Dumbledore," Lucius continued in a lecturing tone, "and the Board, alas, does not involve itself in the hiring of instructors." He fixed his eyes on Snape, waiting for his meaning to sink in, Snape surmised.

"That Dumbledore has already filled that position," Snape said, raising an eyebrow, "would seem to me a greater barrier."

"He has?" Lucius asked, startled.

"Indeed yes, his offer was accepted just this week. He told me so himself, during my interview," Snape informed him. He could not resist adding, "I suppose he does not bother the Board of Governors with such details."

"Then what is it you want with me?" Lucius asked, now frankly curious.

"Dumbledore's staffing problems," Snape began, "are…different from what the Dark Lord supposed." While he knew something Lucius did not, he had the upper hand, and he would not relinquish it easily. He had proved to Lucius that he was not, as Lucius had believed, approaching him entirely from a position of weakness. Now he chose his words carefully, for he needed further to convince Lucius that he could again be useful.

"Indeed?" Lucius asked with a smile. "How so?"

"You were correct in surmising that Dumbledore would not be keen on the idea of hiring me for Defense," Snape said with a nod at Lucius. "But on such short notice, he fears he will not find anyone nearly as qualified as I am for the other position he needs to fill. It seems Horace Slughorn has abruptly tendered his resignation," Snape said with a curl of his lip. "He has been plagued by ill health recently."

"True, Severus, you have a talent for Potions," Lucius agreed. "I still do not see what that has to do with me. It would seem you have the matter admirably in hand."

"The school also needs an acting Head of Slytherin. It is the reason he will take me. No former Slytherin presently on the faculty will take the position, and no one who knows a Potion from a pot of soup among his Defense applicants was in Slytherin. Dumbledore will ensure that his friends on the board will vote to confirm me-but he expressed a worry that there is an oppositional faction…all I need is for you not to oppose that appointment."

"Head of House. That's…quite the accomplishment," Lucius observed with a smile. "Some of my friends on the board are a trifle, shall we say, conservative? You are very young, for such a responsibility." Lucius, at his age, had been on the Board of Governors, Snape did not say. For a Malfoy, the rules were different.

"I am sure it is within your power to reassure them regarding my…politics, Lucius," Snape said. "As for my age," he shrugged, "my appointment is a stopgap measure. Dumbledore plans to conduct a search for a new Head over the course of the school year."

"But the Dark Lord ordered you to secure the Defense post," Lucius said.

"The Dark Lord ordered me to get close to Dumbledore so that I might be a useful spy, Lucius," Snape contradicted him. It was exceedingly unlikely, he judged, that the Dark Lord had repeated his conversation to Lucius verbatim. "The Defense position would have been a means to that end; I found another."

"True," Lucius agreed. "I have no wish to be an obstacle in this matter. I will see what I can do."

"When a wizard of your influence says that, Lucius, I am confident of the result," Snape said. "Thank you."

He had convinced Lucius that his assistance was what the Dark Lord would wish. It would not hurt, however, to remind Lucius that this was also a personal favor to a protégé. The gratitude of a Hogwarts Head of House would be potentially a far more useful commodity than that of an apothecary's assistant.

"Well, Severus," Lucius said, walking out into the corridor, "my guests must be thirsty by now. Why don't you come up and join us?" Ah yes, he was back in favor for the moment.

"I am sorry, I would not risk Narcissa's wrath at the ruin of her seating arrangements," Snape replied smoothly, as he and Lucius walked up the stairs.

They walked together out into the grand entrance of the manor.

"If you are certain…?" Lucius said.

"Yes," Snape nodded.

"Good night, then," Lucius said.

"Good night," Snape replied, and walked out as Dobby opened the door for him. Behind him, he could hear Lucius's raised voice, instructing the House Elf to fetch the wine he had selected, before the door swung shut.

The back room of Madam Sophronia's was almost unbearably hot, despite both doors being open, and the enchanted ceiling fan circulating the air. The proprietress herself was standing on a tall stool and stirring a cauldron, a peculiar habit made necessary by her short stature and the size of the cauldron. Her plump face was covered by a sheen of sweat, at which she dabbed with a lace-edged handkerchief. The large leather apron she wore when working in the back room covered her old-fashioned robes, trimmed with lace that matched the handkerchief.

It was her usual habit to leave most of the work to Snape while she waited on the customers, but the heat must have been keeping them away. Since lunch, there had been none. Snape himself stood at the workbench across from his employer. He was meticulously cutting up roots that she would need in the next stage of her brewing.

A large eagle owl, which had flown in through the front door, interrupted their work. It landed on the table next to Snape. Irritated at the bird's stupidity, he frowned, and removed the thick envelope it carried, thinking to hand it to Madam Sophronia. It was, he saw, addressed to him. As he turned it over, he realized with a thrill of excitement, that he knew what the contents regarded, for the wax seal was embossed with the arms of Hogwarts School. He opened the letter.

_Dear Professor Snape:_

_It is my duty to inform you that Headmaster Dumbledore has appointed you as Potions master at Hogwarts, and acting Head of Slytherin House, effective 1 September. As required by the Hogwarts charter, the Board of Governors has approved the latter appointment._

_Due to the unanticipated departure of your predecessor Professor Slughorn, you will need to use the books and materials he had selected. I included his required textbooks and materials in the lists I sent to the students earlier this summer. These lists are enclosed._

_Your office and apartment are available immediately. Please let me know when you intend to occupy them, so that the Staff might have them ready for your arrival._

_A prompt response by return Owl would be appreciated, as the term begins in just over a week._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

He had been sure this would be coming after his conversation with Lucius. To his surprise, he realized, now that he was actually holding the letter in his hand, that he was smiling.

"Good news, Severus?" Madam Sophronia asked, her beady eyes aglow with curiosity.

He had not warned her of this possibility, he realized with a slight pang. Though he had never hidden the fact that his job as her assistant had not been his first choice, he reminded himself.

"Indeed it is," he confirmed, the fleeting smile now gone. "It means, though, that I must give you notice. I need to leave at the end of the week." Her face fell at the news.

"So, is it the Ministry then, or St. Mungo's?" she asked gamely.

"Neither, actually. It's Hogwarts," Snape replied. Madam Sophronia' plump little face looked grave.

"I know you'll take it anyway," she began hesitantly. "But, well, there's something uncanny about the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, Severus. No one has kept the position for more than a year since…Merlin! Since before you were born, I reckon!" she finished.

At that, a grin came unbidden to his face.

"That's not the position I was offered," he answered.

"Well, then," she said, her curiosity again taking the upper hand. "What is it?

"Potions master," he answered proudly. "And acting Head of Slytherin House."

"Potions master, is it?" she said, placing her hands on her hips. "Then I had better find someone to replace you sooner rather than later. If I hire some pimple-faced young wizard fresh out of Hogwarts next summer, he'll be putting goodness-knows-what into his Potions!" Snape shrugged his shoulders. His unconventional potions recipes had been the largest source of friction in their relationship. The NEWT students might be stuck buying Borage's old text, but no one was going to make him teach out of it.

"They're asking me to respond by return Owl. If you will excuse me for a bit-"

"Yes, yes, of course," Madam Sophronia agreed with a wave of her hand. "And…congratulations," she said as she returned to her stirring. "I didn't really expect to keep him for very long," she muttered to herself as he left.

He had done it, then, Snape thought, as he strode down Knockturn Alley towards the boarding house, the owl perched on his wrist. Yet the greatest danger still lay ahead, for he would have to report his success to the Dark Lord. Would the ruse of Professor Slughorn's retirement be enough to explain that success, or would that success merely rouse the suspicions Snape feared?


	4. A Tale of Remorse

**Chapter 4: A Tale of Remorse**

It was late on Friday night, and Snape was haphazardly tossing his remaining clothing and personal belongings into a trunk. Several boxes of books were stacked near the doorway. The drinks Madam Sophronia had insisted on buying him after their last evening of work together were now making him rather more tired than lightheaded, but he wanted to finish before going to bed. Tomorrow he would be traveling to Hogwarts, and he did not want to start the day with more onerous chores.

Abruptly, Snape felt his Dark Mark burn. It was the summons he had been dreading ever since he had received the official confirmation of his appointment at Hogwarts. He Disapparated with barely a pop to disturb the nocturnal activities of the other denizens of the boarding house.

Upon arrival, he opened his eyes to discover that he was in a familiar place. The richly furnished room in which he found himself was a place he had visited on a few occasions when the Dark Lord wished to speak with a smaller group of Death Eaters privately. Snape had never so much as set foot outside the room, and had no idea where the house of which it must be a part stood.

Tonight the ornate marble fireplace was empty, which was fortunate. The heavy velvet drapes remained drawn, allowing no hint of breeze to dispel the August heat. In the dim candlelight, the room appeared empty. Abruptly, a door to his right opened, admitting the tall, skeletal form of the Dark Lord. As the door closed, becoming again scarcely distinguishable from the wood paneling that covered the walls, Snape caught a glimpse of a richly carpeted hallway, which provided no additional hint as to the location of the house.

Snape dropped hastily to his knees.

"My Lord, you summoned me?" he asked, inclining his head in a show of respect.

Voldemort regarded Snape for a moment, before seating himself in a sumptuously upholstered wingback chair. Snape rose and turned to face him.

"I would hear how you fared in your new assignment," Voldemort said.

"Master, the Defense Against Dark Arts post had already been filled-" Snape began his explanation.

"Indeed, I know all about it," Voldemort interrupted, "and about Slughorn's abrupt retirement."

The Dark Lord had heard from Lucius, then, Snape deduced. No surprise there; maybe it could be turned to Snape's advantage. It was certain Lucius would have emphasized his instrumentality to the outcome. Perhaps if he pushed enough credit Lucius's way, the question Snape feared would not be coming.

"With the assistance of Lucius Malfoy, I have gained Professor Slughorn's position, My Lord," Snape said carefully, maintaining a neutral expression as he surreptitiously sought to evaluate the Dark Lord's reaction.

"Lucius is most useful for his influence in certain circles, yes," Voldemort said. His high, cold laugh cut through the stuffy air, and Snape suppressed a shudder. "But not, I believe, with Albus Dumbledore. Yet, the old fool hired you."

Snape's heart sank at his words.

He continued softly, in a voice that seemed almost a hiss, "I ask myself…surely my servant is being too modest? Your own powers of persuasion did not play a role?"

"Master, you are too kind," Snape replied, his mind racing. The Dark Lord wanted to hear more about his contact with Dumbledore. What should he say?

"So, did he bring up the prophecy?" Voldemort asked quietly. The red glow that lit his eyes as he spoke belied the soft tone in which the words were said.

Snape paled. He had feared Dumbledore's plan of convincing Slughorn to retire would not be enough, and his every instinct now told him that he had been right. The Dark Lord had expected Dumbledore would not hire him – he had been set up to fail. If he was to conceal his ongoing betrayal of the Dark Lord, he needed a convincing explanation of how he had persuaded Dumbledore. In the days since he had secured Lucius's help, Snape had given it some thought, just in case. All he had come up with was a dangerous gamble, but, as he had walked straight into the trap, it seemed his best option.

With a firm nod, he collected his thoughts and launched into his first deliberate lie to the Dark Lord. He had, he believed, gotten away with any number of misdirections and half-truths over the past year, a year in which he had worked hard to hone his Occlumency skills. He was about to see whether he had learned enough.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape answered. "I think Dumbledore only granted me an interview to question me about the prophecy. I could see that he did not want to hire me, that he mistrusted me."

"And yet, you obtained a position," Voldemort stated. "Look at me!" he ordered.

Here it was, the most dangerous moment. He had lied already, but the Dark Lord would seek confirmation of this lie. Snape met his eyes, and allowed a memory he had kept deeply hidden for nearly a year to surface. Of a meeting in Dumbledore's office in which he had confessed the crime he most regretted, and, had stunningly, been given his life back in return. However, Legilimency had limits, even the Dark Lord's. It could reveal neither the words that had been spoken then, nor the date of that meeting, Snape hoped.

"I spun for him a tale of remorse, Master," Snape responded, his black eyes glittering as he looked upon the Dark Lord, though his stomach twisted with fear. Of what might happen now, if the Dark Lord sensed the lie. Yet also of what the Dark Lord might do if he believed, for what Snape was about to confess was in itself a betrayal of the Dark Lord's secrets, if far less serious than the one of which he feared he was suspected. "I revealed my Mark. I claimed that I regretted my association with you, the crimes I committed in your service, and the trouble I caused the Potters by telling you the prophecy," he explained.

"And he believed you?" Voldemort asked, his red eyes fixed on Snape's.

"I am not sure, My Lord," Snape answered, "but he agreed to hire me."

"So simply? It would seem you have hidden talents as an actor," Voldemort said with a sneer.

"No, Master!" Snape said hastily. "We spoke for a long time. He asked why I was telling him now. I told him I have regretted my decision for a long time, but could not run, as I feared I would be killed, and knew no one to turn to for help. That I could not keep hiding what I had become, when he confronted me about the prophecy."

"Dumbledore, despite certain self-imposed limitations, has been a great wizard," Voldemort interrupted Snape's account lazily. "If he believed you, there must have been truth in what you said."

The Dark Lord's logic was inconvenient, but undeniable. Snape saw instantly that, as he could not argue with the Dark Lord's conclusion, his best chance was to confirm it, on his own terms.

"Master, forgive me!" he cried, falling at the Dark Lord's feet. "After- after our last meeting, I confess I did regret my decision to serve you. It is this, and my fear, that I believe Dumbledore sensed, and mistook. Still I have served you loyally, My Lord. I succeeded in my assignment."

Silence fell for a moment, which seemed endless to Snape as he waited for the Dark Lord's reaction. He could hear the Dark Lord standing up, and his robes brushed Snape as he strode by.

"Get up, Snape," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. I do not forgive so easily. I would know all that passed between you and Dumbledore, before I judge."

Snape rose to his feet. The Dark Lord stood, his back to a sconce on the wall in which now burned a bright magical light, which only served to darken the shadows cast by the black hood he wore. His white, long-fingered hands idly fingered his wand.

"So, Dumbledore believed your pretty story, pitied your sorry state, and decided to hire you," Voldemort sneered.

Snape kept his eyes on the Dark Lord's face, to avoid the bright light of the magical flame. "He expressed his disappointment, at first," Snape said. "He said he had hoped I had seen through Bellatrix and her Slytherin gang at school. He didn't come out and say it, but I could see that he wanted me to confirm his suspicions about them. So I did."

The Dark Lord did not speak. The light was making it impossible to read the Dark Lord's expression, as he doubtless intended.

Snape elaborated, "I gave him the names of a pair of recently slain Death Eaters, a pair in Ministry custody…and Lucius and Bellatrix. Lucius, I claimed to only suspect. Bellatrix, I confessed, led the failed raid on the Potters in which I participated."

"You betrayed fellow Death Eaters?" Voldemort asked in a dangerous voice.

"Yes, My Lord," Snape confirmed quietly, and with all the sincerity he could muster. Best to give the Dark Lord some truths on which to hang this tissue of lies…

"And you are admitting it to me?" the Dark Lord asked. Snape thought he detected a note of incredulity.

"I could not hope to conceal my guilt from you, Master!" Snape exclaimed. "All know that you are a Legilimens without peer. My only hope was that, in the end, you might value my success enough to forgive the means I used to attain it.

"My Lord, I considered very carefully what I would tell," he continued. "I knew, for my tale to be credible, I would need to account for my own actions during my years in your service. I confessed to enough criminal activity to land in Azkaban. I named no free Death Eaters other than Bellatrix, and her only in connection to that one failed raid. I gave him nothing that could be used against others, without my testimony."

"And he accepted this?" Voldemort asked.

"He is familiar with the precautions we take to preserve our secrecy, My Lord," Snape replied. "I gather he has learned that the recently captured Death Eaters know few of their fellows by name."

"So, he questioned none of the story?"

"On the contrary, he asked for some details about the raid, questions which showed his knowledge of the particulars, surely to check the truth of my account. Someone in his service must have visited the house after the raid and reported these same details to him. But he seemed more interested in why I wanted to teach," Snape said.

"And did you tell him?" Voldemort inquired softly.

"No, Master," Snape replied quickly. "I told him Defense against the Dark Arts had always been my best subject. And that, as I could not leave the Death Eaters, I wished at least to get further away from Knockturn Alley and the influences that had led me astray."

"And then he offered you the Potions position?"

"No, My Lord. He told me that the safety of Hogwarts is illusory, for even if employed there, I would need to leave it from time to time. I told him I had known that when I applied, that I had planned to continue meeting with my fellow Death Eaters."

"How did he react?"

"He asked what I had planned to do in the event that you chose to take advantage of my position as a teacher to harm the school or its students."

Voldemort nodded his head, and the movement revealed for a moment that his lipless face was twisted into a terrifying semblance of a grin. "Indeed, he would ask that. How did you answer?"

"I expressed shock. I said it had never occurred to me, or I would not have applied for the position, as I could not live with myself if I did such a thing."

"And?" Voldemort prompted.

"He looked at me, and asked seriously if I meant that, if I would give him news of a plan of that nature if I were to learn of it," Snape replied. "Naturally, I said I would. _That_ is when he brought up Slughorn and the Potions position. He commented that it would be better for me given where the Dark Arts had led me, and offered it to me. He said he would not reveal me to the Ministry, and I could leave the school to meet with Death Eaters, but that I must tell him if I learn anything of importance."

"In other words, I sent you to Hogwarts to spy on Dumbledore, and instead, he thinks he has turned you to spy on me?" Voldemort asked.

"Precisely, My Lord," Snape confirmed, gazing steadily at Voldemort.

"I don't recall giving you any order to that effect," Voldemort said softly, but with an almost palpable menace. Snape stood silent. He had told his story. If the Dark Lord had discovered his duplicity, nothing he could do or say now would save him. If not – he had already begged, and groveled, but he _had_ succeeded, beyond the Dark Lord's expectation. He would let his actions speak for him.

"Are you certain, my _loyal_ servant, that this idea was not Dumbledore's?" Voldemort asked, so softly it was almost a whisper.

This Snape could have answered, resoundingly, not very long ago. That side of him, the young man that became a Death Eater – it must still be there. Always would be…. Calling up his memories of his school days, he replied.

"Dumbledore!" he spat angrily. "He pays lip service to so-called justice, yet his favorites can get away with murder and are showered with rewards, while he expects me to stick my neck in a noose for a year's teaching salary and be grateful. I know exactly what I would gain, were I to accept his offer in truth and evade your wrath. A lifetime of licking the boots of people who have always known I am worthless, who will now despise me both for my 'crimes' and as a traitor, and who will expect my undying gratitude for their noble forbearance, in allowing me to help them.

"No thank you. I'll take my chances with you, My Lord. At least when you win, I will see my enemies dead, for they are yours as well," Snape finished.

"I suggest that you leave those sentiments in this room," Voldemort said, "for I would not be pleased to lose my spy at Hogwarts."

"My apologies, Master," Snape said, bowing deeply, his deferential gesture hiding a surge of triumph. He had won this round, then – his arrangement of his hiring was accepted. "I had not seen Dumbledore for several years. Our recent meeting has made me no fonder of him, but I will not permit myself to indulge my feelings again."

"Very well," Voldemort said. "And now, my judgment. You have broken your oath of secrecy, which is a matter of grave seriousness. Yet I will pardon it, this once, as you have succeeded in your assignment in a manner that may prove most profitable. See that it does."

"Thank you, My Lord," Snape said, inclining his head respectfully.

"You may leave me now," the Dark Lord said, as, with a flick of his wand, he extinguished the magical light. Snape, his eyes unaccustomed to the gloom, stumbled forward to bow and kiss the Dark Lord's robe before departing. A claw like hand gripped his upper arm painfully and kept him standing. It took a moment before he recognized what had happened – the Dark Lord did not require him to kiss the hem of his robe.

He bowed again and backed away a few steps, before turning on his heel and Disapparating.


	5. Return to Hogwarts

**Chapter 5: Return to Hogwarts**

Snape had considered how best to get himself and his belongings to Hogwarts, and had settled on the Knight Bus. This is why he was standing outside the Leaky Cauldron in Muggle London early Saturday morning. With its usual loud noise and bright light, a purple triple-decker bus pulled up on the road beside him.

"Good morning!" said the conductor in a cheerful voice. It was, Snape noted, the round-faced young witch he had met earlier in the summer. Her purple uniform was crisp and unwrinkled; apparently, she did not always work the night shift. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. Emergency transport-" she broke off her patter as she recognized him as well.

"Say, I remember you! You 'ad a quieter night this time, eh?" she said with a wink.

"Hogwarts, please. How much will it be?" Snape asked, ignoring her question.

"You mean 'ogsmeade, dontcha. That's twenty Sickles, plus one each for the trunk and the boxes." She climbed down from the bus and went to pick up a box.

"Allow me," Snape said, flicking his wand at the pile of his belongings and causing them to float up into the bus. He handed her his money and followed them aboard.

"'ogsmeade," she told the driver as she, too, boarded the bus.

"No, I do mean Hogwarts," Snape corrected her coldly, and took a bed near the front of the bus. His belongings stacked themselves neatly against the wall nearby. The conductor followed him as the bus lurched into motion.

"That must've been some morning after," she opined. "That's why I stay away from firewhiskey. Learned me lesson after a night of drinking at me cousin's."

Snape curled his lip, prompted by an amusement he could not share with her. He sincerely wished he could stay away from the source of his headaches as well, but he had made his choice, and would just have to live with it. He wished she would shut up.

"School's not in session yet," she said, changing subjects. "What do you want with 'ogwarts?"

"I am the new Potions master," he answered shortly. The conductor giggled.

"You're 'ardly old enough to've finished school yerself," she said, smiling broadly.

"Nonetheless," he replied, pulling some parchment and a couple of Potions texts from his knapsack, "I will be teaching Potions." Might as well get started on some planning for the first week of classes, he decided. If nothing else, it might serve to end this inane conversation.

"Magical Draughts and Potions," she read. Snape ignored her, wrote "First Years" across the top of the parchment, and started flipping through the text. Apparently, this was sufficiently boring, for the conductor returned to the front of the bus to chat with the driver instead.

When the bus came to a stop in front of the castle some time later, Snape descended and floated his trunk and a pile of boxes out onto the road in front of the school. As the bus departed, he walked up and examined the single padlock that chained the great iron gates shut. A quick check confirmed that no simple spell would open it. A host of defensive jinxes protected the gate and stone walls themselves. Doubtless, the added security measures were a response to the ongoing war.

The Knight Bus had taken less time than he had expected, Snape saw, glancing at his watch. Professor McGonagall was not expecting him for another twenty minutes at least. Shrugging his shoulders, he sat down on the trunk to wait, resuming his planning of the first years' lessons. If Professor McGonagall were not there by ten, he decided, he would set about attracting the attention of someone inside the grounds.

When he looked up some time later, he saw a green-clad figure in a wide-brimmed hat had left the castle and was walking down to the gates. As the figure neared, he recognized that it was indeed the Deputy Headmistress. She was wearing one of her trademark tartan robes and the same hat he remembered seeing so often in Transfiguration class. Her black hair, pulled tightly back into a bun, still showed no sign of grey, and her eyes gazed sternly through her square-rimmed glasses. She looked very much as he remembered from his student days, which, he was suddenly acutely aware, were not long behind him. Putting his notes away, he rose to his feet.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he said as she approached.

"Professor Snape! I hope you were not waiting too long," she replied.

"Not at all, the Knight Bus dropped me off earlier than I had expected," he said, waving his wand at his belongings. The boxes stacked themselves on top of the trunk, and the entire pile lifted up into the air.

"There!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall, touching her wand to the padlock. It snapped open, and the chains rattled as they snaked backwards. As the gates opened with a loud creak, Snape set his belongings floating up towards the castle.

"Thank you, Professor," he said as he followed his boxes onto the grounds.

Professor McGonagall closed the gates and locked the padlock again behind them.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, Professor Snape," she said primly. "It's all the new security – we can't be too careful here at Hogwarts."

"I understand, Professor," Snape replied.

"Well, I planned to begin by showing you to your quarters. You will be able to leave your things there," she said as they strode up to the castle together.

"That would be fine," he agreed. "Will I be taking Professor Slughorn's old office on the first floor?" He didn't remember the room with any particular fondness. He supposed that it would serve, now that the excess of little footstools, tables, and knickknacks that had cluttered the room were gone with its former occupant.

"I neglected to mention that in our correspondence, Professor Snape," she answered. "No, I took the liberty of having the House Elves prepare a suite in the dungeons. Professor Slughorn has occupied his office since before I was a student at Hogwarts, and I am afraid that it is taking him some time to move out his belongings."

"I suppose the office you selected will be a lot closer to the Potions classroom and my charges," Snape commented.

"Indeed yes, I selected an office right next to the Potions classroom," McGonagall responded. They had reached the doors of the castle, which opened at their approach. Snape's boxes were hovering in front of the massive wooden doors, awaiting further instructions. Snape flicked his wand at them and they proceeded across the Entrance Hall and down into the dungeons. McGonagall and Snape followed. She stopped next to an oak door not far from the Potions classroom. Removing a key from a pocket, she unlocked the door, and then handed the key to Snape.

"There you go, Professor," she said. "Professor Slughorn preferred to have an office on the first floor, he insisted on windows. If you find that would be your preference as well, we can certainly move you once his office is emptied."

Snape looked around at the room. It was quite spacious, somewhat larger than his room at the boarding house had been. The flagstone floor was neatly swept. Wooden shelves, now standing empty, lined its stone walls, but he could picture how they would look, eventually, with his books, notes, and potions ingredients put away. A heavy wooden desk and chair stood at the far end, in front of a large fireplace, and there was ample space remaining should he wish to add a second table and some chairs. A cabinet for storing Potions ingredients stood in one corner. He nodded with satisfaction.

"There will be no need, Professor McGonagall," Snape told her, pocketing his key. "This office suits me well enough."

"Your quarters are through there," she added, waving her wand at a stretch along the left wall without shelving. A door appeared. Snape sent his boxes over and they piled themselves next to the door.

"Why don't you settle in and come by my office when you are ready," Professor McGonagall suggested. "I'll show you around the Potions classroom and stores, and leave you with all of the keys."

"I could come now, if it is convenient for you, Professor," Snape said. He could arrange his things later. Getting into the storeroom and class, _his_ storeroom and class, he reminded himself, was far more appealing.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, as she led the way out of Snape's office.

"So, Severus, Professor McGonagall tells me that you have moved into your quarters," Dumbledore said. It was Monday morning, and Snape was sitting in the Headmaster's office, at his invitation.

"That's right, Professor Dumbledore," Snape confirmed. "I arrived on Saturday morning."

"And you have everything you need to settle in?"

"I completed an inventory of the Potions storeroom over the weekend," Snape said, getting down to business. "It is missing a few ingredients I would prefer to have on hand, and it is low on some others."

"I was inquiring in regards to your accommodations," Dumbledore said, amused, though not surprised. He had understood when he hired Snape that, whatever shortcomings he might prove to have as a teacher, inattention to detail and laziness were not going to be among them.

"However, what you mentioned should be no problem," he added, addressing Snape's concern. "There is a budget for the acquisition of supplies. You should make a request to Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, I shall bring it up with her, then. I am meeting with her this afternoon regarding my duties in Slytherin House," Snape replied.

"How was the move? Uneventful, I hope?" Dumbledore asked.

"I had no problems. Though, an unexpected meeting interrupted my packing," Snape answered, with a significant glance at Dumbledore.

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "Please, do tell me about it."

"I was summoned by the Dark Lord Friday night," Snape began.

"So, there was a meeting of the Death Eaters?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, it was a private interview," Snape replied.

"Was he pleased with your success, then?" Dumbledore asked. A private meeting was an unprecedented occurrence.

"Not initially, no," Snape replied.

Dumbledore gave Snape a long, appraising look. It had been three days ago – the lack of any of the outward signs of Voldemort's displeasure could be due to the time elapsed since then.

"I talked him around. I think," Snape said.

"How so?" Dumbledore asked.

"It was…complicated. I may have convinced him that you hired me because you believed that would buy my services as a spy," Snape said, recapping the Dark Lord's own summary of the conversation.

"I should like to know exactly what transpired," Dumbledore said, an understatement if ever he had uttered one. It occurred to him that, as he was no longer constrained to meet Snape in secret and away from the school, the means to satisfy his curiosity was at hand.

"Yet, it sounds as though you, yourself, are not certain," he added. "Would you consider _showing_ me, instead?"

"Showing you, sir? You mean Legilimency?" Snape asked, confused. "How would seeing my meeting with the Dark Lord provide you with more information than my recollection of what occurred?"

"My apologies for the seeming obscurity," Dumbledore responded. "You are right, of course, that Legilimency has considerable limitations. No, I was referring to a Pensieve."

As he spoke, Dumbledore flicked his wand at the cabinet on the far wall in which he kept the Pensieve.

Turning, Snape saw that the black cabinet standing against the opposite wall was now open. Inside it sat a shallow stone basin engraved around the rim with ancient runes. It contained a substance Snape could not identify, which gave off a bright, silvery light. Whatever it was, it moved ceaselessly, swirling and rippling with no discernible pattern.

"If you are willing, it is possible to place your memory of the meeting into the Pensieve for viewing," Dumbledore explained.

"It would appear across the surface of the … substance, like a Muggle television?" Snape asked.

"No, it is rather more useful than that," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Once the memory is in the Pensieve, we may enter the memory fully, and move about within it, to experience it with all our senses, just as if we had been there. I would like you to accompany me into your memory, naturally. You might see things you missed, the first time."

"Remarkable," Snape commented, shaking his head in wonder, "I have never read even a hint that such a thing might be possible."

However, as Snape thought through what he had just learned, he was less than enthusiastic about the idea. His accounts to Dumbledore of his activities were always factual, but Dumbledore did not make him relive the more humiliating moments in detail. It made him uncomfortable, this idea of Dumbledore watching him with the Dark Lord. Bowing and scraping, begging for forgiveness…and, he remembered with a shock, making that bitter, furious speech.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. If he knew Severus, and he rather though that he did by now, Severus's quick mind had grasped the functioning of the Pensieve. His continuing hesitation likely indicated that he had some reservations about its use in this case. There must be something in that memory that he was reluctant to relive, or share.

"If you believe that a summary of the conversation will suffice to communicate what happened," Dumbledore said, "that is good enough for me."

Snape considered his meeting with the Dark Lord. He was not at all sure that the conversation had gone as well as its ending seemed to indicate. Of course, Dumbledore didn't need to know that…but Snape had agreed not to conceal anything of importance that passed between him and the Dark Lord. Very well. Snape looked up at Dumbledore, who was smiling at him pleasantly, waiting for his decision.

"How do I put a memory into the Pensieve?" Snape asked.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, his eyes twinkling. He walked over to the cabinet and removed the Pensieve, setting it down carefully on his desk.

"It should be a simple matter for you, Severus, with the control you have gained over your memories," he explained. "Place your wand tip next to your temple, and recall the start of the meeting. Then gently move the wand away. As you do, recall the ending. This will prevent the removal of later memories."

Snape got out his wand and walked up to the desk. He placed the wand tip at his temple as instructed, and recalled his Apparition into the empty room. As he began to move the wand tip, he saw that a wisp of the substance in the Pensieve appeared to be connecting the wand to his head. As he called to mind his final obeisance to the Dark Lord, it broke off, dangling from his wand tip. He held it over the Pensieve, and it drifted down, becoming one with the swirling, cloud-like contents.

"After you," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Just lean over the bowl, bringing your face closer to it until you feel yourself fall into the memory."

Snape tucked his wand away and leaned over the Pensieve, his black hair swinging forward over his face. It seemed that as he did so, the mist grew more transparent, providing a view of a dimly lit room…all at once, it felt as though the floor beneath him lurched and tipped him headfirst into the stone bowl. He fell through blackness, spinning rapidly as he fell, until suddenly, he was standing in the room in which he had met the Dark Lord, looking at himself. His self in the memory showed no reaction to his sudden arrival, his face intent as he scanned the room.

Abruptly, Professor Dumbledore also appeared in the room.

"The Dark Lord will be entering through there," Snape pointed out to him.

Dumbledore turned in the direction indicated, and indeed, a door in the paneled wall opened to reveal the tall, black-robed form of Lord Voldemort. Severus, in his memory, immediately fell to his knees in obeisance.

Meanwhile Snape stepped back to lean against a wall, allowing Dumbledore the better view of the proceedings. The little drama played out much as he remembered it. Free of the fear of making a fatal misstep, he watched the Dark Lord again, though he found his eyes drawn more to himself, as well as to Dumbledore's reactions. Dumbledore watched the scene intently, his face serious, his blue eyes alert for every nuance.

As his memory-self fell at the Dark Lord's feet begging for forgiveness, Snape looked up at the Dark Lord. His snakelike face seemed a mask; it showed no reaction to his memory self's palpable fear. Dumbledore, too, remained impassive, his eyes, like Snape's, on the Dark Lord.

When Snape's memory-self recounted Dumbledore's supposed concern that Snape might endanger the safety of the school, Snape thought he saw a ghost of a smile pass over Dumbledore's face, eerily echoed a moment later by the Dark Lord's horrible expression of amusement.

The moment Snape had dreaded as he agreed to share his memory was next upon him. He saw his memory self, his unlovely face twisted in a rictus of hate, spewing his bitterness at Dumbledore. Dumbledore's face remained intent, no hint of a reaction showing in his expression, his eyes shifting from the Dark Lord to Snape as if to take in every detail.

Then the memory was over. As Snape's memory-self turned on his heel to Disapparate, an unnatural darkness fell in the room. Moments later, Snape felt a light touch on his elbow, and found himself flying upwards, before seemingly flipping over to land with his feet on the floor of Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore stood beside him.

It was clear now why Severus had hesitated to share the memory, at any rate, Dumbledore realized. Best to address it head-on. His blue eyes twinkling behind the half-moon glasses he wore, Dumbledore smiled and said, "That was quite an act you put on, at the end."

The undeserved praise rankled Snape. It was bad enough to have shared that, without being complimented for it.

"I am not that skilled an actor. I doubt one that skilled exists," Snape replied. He added, his face bleak, "The Dark Lord would never have been fooled by a feigned hatred, without the memories and depth of emotion to back it up."

"I see," replied Dumbledore gravely. So, the angry young man who had joined the Death Eaters had been angry with him as well. Even now, after all that had passed between them, he still feared it would be held against him.

In the silence that followed his explanation, Snape considered what he ought to do. Apologize? Explain why he no longer believed all of what he had said? His younger self had been wrong, completely wrong, about Dumbledore, anyway. However unjust Dumbledore's past decisions may have seemed, he had learned, to his great surprise, that Dumbledore had never deemed him worthless, though by the time he had come to Dumbledore for help, he would have merited such a judgment.

"There was a slight inaccuracy in that little speech," Dumbledore said dryly. "As I recall, the reward for sticking your neck in a noose to which you agreed was the occasional glass of sour ale in a disreputable Muggle pub."

"So I did," breathed Snape, feeling as though a weight had been taken off his chest.

"Though I do not begrudge you the raise," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Come, Severus, retrieve your memory and take a seat. I have some questions about what I just saw."

Snape dipped the tip of his wand into the Pensieve and drew it out hesitantly. A wisp of the memory-stuff clung to it. As he brought his wand tip to his temple, Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. Before tucking his wand away, Snape saw that the memory had vanished. He returned to his seat, waiting for Dumbledore's questions.

"Lord Voldemort performed Legilimency as you told him of our supposed conversation, did he not?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, he did, sir," Snape confirmed.

"And yet he seemed to accept your story," Dumbledore commented.

"I believe I was able to provide corroboration by allowing him to see memories of my first meeting with you," Snape replied.

"Clever," Dumbledore said. Also risky, but he would not second-guess Severus, who would have stood to lose the most had the lie been discovered. "Dangerous, but very clever. It covered your lie, certainly. In the long view – it has also made that memory less dangerous to you."

"My admission that I betrayed Bellatrix and the others also helped to shore up the story, I believe, and allowed me to stick close to the truth," Snape added.

"Yes. We are left, then, with the problem that Voldemort will expect some success in your new role," Dumbledore said.

"A problem we would have had regardless of how the Dark Lord believed I obtained the position, Professor," Snape pointed out.

"Indeed," Dumbledore acknowledged. "You handled the situation well. It seems to me that you have bought some time for yourself. Lord Voldemort's suspicions, I would say, are temporarily in abeyance."

He added, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "As I do not habitually regale new staff members with juicy details of my clandestine activities, I suppose it is safe to return to the more mundane topic of your duties here at Hogwarts."


	6. Start of Term

**Chapter 6: Start of Term**

Snape had spent a busy week preparing for the swiftly approaching start of the school year. The students had arrived yesterday, and he had observed the familiar routine of the Welcoming Feast from the unfamiliar vantage point of the Head Table. Slytherin got its fair share of the new students in the Sorting. Other than seeming ridiculously young, none made any particular impression on Snape, though he was pleased to see them all cheered by their housemates are they took their seats at the Slytherin table. The list included some familiar Wizarding names, as always, for the house of pureblood tradition, among other things. He had also seen some familiar faces among the older students.

However, his first task of the first day of classes did not involve any students of his House. It was teaching double Potions for first years, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, so he knew none of the students, though he had with him a list Professor McGonagall had provided. Snape arrived just as the bell rang. Though he had seen the new students at the Welcoming Feast the previous night, from the Head Table they had not seemed quite so _loud_. While he felt well prepared for the class, having given his opening remarks a little thought, and having selected a first potion to introduce for what seemed a felicitous combination of interesting effect and ease of preparation, he was suddenly glad he had not come earlier.

He opened the door to the dungeon classroom, and the students filed noisily in and began to find seats at the long tables arranged in two rows. He waited for the aisle in between to mostly empty of students before sweeping up to the front of the room. As he passed, the chatter died down somewhat, and he began to take the roll.

To his surprise, one of the students did not respond.

"Bones, Archibald," Snape repeated, sweeping the class with his black eyes. The last of the chatter died down. Several of his students looked away to avoid his gaze. Making a mental note of the name, Snape continued.

Just as he finished reading the roster, the door at the back of the room creaked and opened a crack. Snape picked his wand up from his desk and flicked it at the door, which flew wide open to reveal a tall, skinny boy. He stumbled into the room and the freckled face under his mop of curly brown hair reddened. The unexpected opening of the heavy door must have startled him.

Snape waved the door shut, and waited for the boy to regain his balance.

"Mr. Bones, I presume?" he asked.

"Y- yes, Professor," the boy responded. "It's all those stairs that move…."

Snape raised an eyebrow skeptically, and the boy trailed off.

"You are in Hufflepuff, are you not?" Snape asked him.

"Yes, sir," the boy responded more confidently.

"Then the entrance to your dormitory is on the same level of the castle as this room, Mr. Bones," Snape observed dryly. Several of the Ravenclaw students snickered.

"Have a seat, Mr. Bones," Snape ordered. As the boy walked over to an empty chair, Snape added, "I suggest that between now and your next lesson, you apply yourself to learning the route to this classroom." He waited for the boy to sit down and put away his things before addressing the class.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he said, speaking quietly, for after the appearance of the unfortunate Bones, all of the students were quiet. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. But I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death.

"But for today, something more modest," he said. "Who can tell me the use of puffer-fish eyes in a potion?"

The room became quiet enough to hear the proverbial pin drop. As Snape looked around, his students seemed intent on examining the stains on their battered old tables. Clearly, no one was planning to volunteer an answer. Snape thought back to the roll, hoping to pick a suitable target, someone who might actually know the answer. That girl sitting in the back row - she had been reading a book as she waited for class to start … had it been the text? Eloise Pritchett, Ravenclaw, he remembered.

"Miss Pritchett, what is the use of puffer-fish eyes in a potion?" he asked her.

She looked up nervously.

"They help the potion make something get bigger, Professor?" she answered, her intonation turning the statement into a question.

"Is that your answer, or a question, Miss Pritchett?" he asked.

"A guess, sir," she answered, her voice barely audible.

"And how did you arrive at this guess?" Snape asked her, curious, for it was the correct answer.

The girl flushed. "M-muggles call it the Law of Similarity. That in magic, similar things produce similar effects. I was guessing that for wizards, it might actually _work_."

"A student of Muggle history, I see," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. Another ripple of amusement started around the room. A Muggle-born, almost certainly, Snape deduced. She must have done some research at her local public library after getting her Hogwarts letter. No surprise _she_ ended up in Ravenclaw.

"Indeed, in this case it does," he confirmed. Glancing around the room, he added, "As you might all know if you had bothered to open your books before coming. Today we will be producing the Swelling Solution, for which they are the primary ingredient."

It had not been a horrible answer, he thought, looking around with disdain at her snickering classmates. His eye settled on a boy with a particularly loud laugh, seated in the other row, towards the middle of the room.

"However, the effect any ingredient has depends very much on the other ingredients," he resumed his comments. "For example, substances that are by themselves deadly poisons may have beneficial effects when combined with other ingredients in a potion. Since you seem so amused by Miss Pritchett's explanation, Mr. Jorkins, I feel confident that you can tell us an instance of this."

The boy paled slightly, and stopped laughing. Snape regarded him calmly. The room again fell silent.

"Well?" Snape prompted.

"Umm…I didn't understand the question," the boy admitted.

"I asked you to name a beneficial potion which includes a deadly poison as an ingredient," Snape repeated quietly. The boy stared at him blankly.

"Anyone?" Snape asked the class.

"I see you don't read the news, either," Snape observed to the ensuing silence. "The recently discovered Wolfsbane Potion, which relieves some of the symptoms of lycanthropy, is an example: its primary ingredient is wolfsbane. Also known as aconite or monkshood, this non-magical plant is a deadly poison."

Jorkins looked uncertainly at Snape.

"Write it down," he instructed. The students hurriedly opened notebooks or pulled sheets of parchment out of their bags and started to write.

He walked over to the blackboard and tapped it with his wand, causing a recipe for the Swelling Solution to appear. It was technically a third year potion, but with some adjustments he had made to it, he believed he might have cut the preparation time down sufficiently. At any rate, it ought to prove more interesting to the class than a potion to cure boils, Chapter 1 in the text selected by Professor Slughorn. They could get to that another day.

Snape instructed the students to divide into pairs. Then he swept around the room distributing the puffer-fish eyes and checking that the cauldrons were set up properly, before permitting the students to light the braziers underneath.

The class was now bustling with activity, as his students selected ingredients, weighed them with their scales, and started preparing them for use in the potion. The puffer-fish eyes simply needed to be cut in half. That, the students were managing, though they were certainly taking their time about it, and needing to crawl about on the stone floor to retrieve eyeballs which had squirted off the tables, and were now rolling on the floor. However, chopping the gurdyroots seemed beyond any of them.

Suddenly Snape noticed a boy about to toss slices of gurdyroot in an assortment of thicknesses into his cauldron.

"Attention, everyone!" he called, taking the chopping board out of the hands of the surprised boy. "Who can tell me what it wrong with this gurdyroot?"

Again, no one volunteered an answer, so Snape turned to a girl with long, braided hair who was sitting next to the pair whose roots he had selected as an example.

"Miss Midgeon?" he asked.

"Um, are the pieces too big, Professor?" she asked him. He shook his head and looked for another person to ask.

"Are they too small?" piped up a boy from the back of the room. Well, Snape supposed he should give the boy credit for volunteering.

"No, not too small, either," he said, failing to entirely conceal his irritation at the obvious guess.

Tentatively, Eloise Pritchett raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Pritchett?"

"Sir, should the pieces be of a uniform size and shape?" she inquired.

"Indeed, Miss Pritchett, they should. Class, I am assigning you an essay, due next week, on cutting techniques used in the preparation of dry ingredients. One roll of parchment."

Snape walked to the back of the room, hoping to find a decent example of a chopped ingredient to show the class. Instead, he found Miss Pritchett and her partner arguing over a messily chopped pile of gurdyroot.

"Well, why didn't you say something, Eloise?" her partner was saying in an irritated voice.

"I didn't know!" she exclaimed defensively.

"Another guess, Miss Pritchett?" Snape asked. She gave a little start, and then nodded at him.

"Something else you read in a Muggle text?" he inquired.

"No, sir. It just seemed … logical, when I thought about it. So the ingredients that make the potion work can be spread out evenly throughout when we stir it."

Snape nodded his head. Now if she would just think this way before starting work, he might just have one student in this otherwise hopeless class capable of learning to make some interesting potions.

"Carry on, then," he said, and started another circuit of the room, watching as students worked to even out the sizes of their bits of gurdyroot.

As the class wore on, it began to dawn on Snape that perhaps he might want to consider doing a different potion with his other first-year class, later that week. It looked like nobody would actually finish, even among the few groups who were somewhere along the way to a correct potion. The rest were producing a variety of useless, or dangerous, liquids. Perhaps, also, a short demonstration of some of the techniques was in order. After all, odds were that the brightest, or at least, most studious, students were in _this _class, not in Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Suddenly a commotion at the front of the class attracted Snape's attention. A blonde girl was screaming, as her left hand had ballooned to thrice its size and was developing splotches in a rainbow of bright hues. Students started to rush over to see what was happening.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" he shouted, stopping the class in their tracks. He strode rapidly over to the girl and pulled a phial of Deflating Draught from his pocket.

"Here, drink this. Two sips," he instructed the girl brusquely. As soon as she did so, her hand shrank down to its normal size. The splotches remained, though they seemed to be fading and shrinking, as if being absorbed back into her skin. Snape looked around and ascertained that no one else had been splashed.

"What happened here?" he demanded.

"He flicked the potion at me with his spoon!" the teary-eyed blonde accused her partner.

"That girl over there shrieked and swatted a wasp, and it flew over to me, and I –" the boy broke off and reddened in embarrassment.

"-decided to swat it with your ladle, Stebbins?" Snape said caustically.

Stebbins nodded sheepishly.

"In this class, we have a number of lit fires, and cauldrons full of boiling liquids. At times, they will in addition contain dangerous substances. You should be cautious and deliberate in your movements, for your own safety and that of your classmates. Mr. Stebbins, I am taking ten points from Hufflepuff for your carelessness," Snape said. Turning to the girl Stebbins had indicated, he added, "Miss Foster, your ill-considered overreaction to the insect was also lamentable, so I am taking five points from Ravenclaw as well."

"Since Mr. Stebbins has, however inadvertently, provided a demonstration of the effects of the Swelling Solution, and since we are almost out of time, we'll stop here," Snape announced. "Please bring up a flask to my desk for grading, and then clean up your work areas."

Snape was sitting in his office having some tea, having just gotten back from the Potions laboratory. Most of the supplies he had purchased during the last week had arrived during the day, and he had spent a couple of hours after his last class putting them away. The headache he had developed during the day was receding – the monotonous but orderly work of stowing away Potions ingredients in their proper storage areas had been a welcome antidote to his first day of teaching, and a cup of tea was completing the cure.

He realized that he had not been a typical student. But surely, his classmates had not been as hopeless as the students in the three classes he had seen today? Well, it was the first day back, he told himself. They, and he, needed to get into the swing of things.

A knock on his office door interrupted his musings. Snape walked over and opened the door, to find his diminutive colleague, the Charms professor, standing outside.

"Good afternoon, Professor Flitwick," Snape greeted him. "Please, do come in."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Flitwick said in the high, squeaky voice Snape remembered well from Charms classes, and stepped into the office. He glanced around curiously at the shelves, some already filled with books and specimens.

"I see you are beginning to settle in to your office," Flitwick said, with an approving smile. "We have not had much chance to talk yet – I would like to take this opportunity to say, welcome to the staff."

"Thank you, Professor," Snape replied. "I was just having tea. Might I offer you a cup?"

"Most kind, I wouldn't mind a cup," Flitwick agreed. Snape walked over and poured his guest some tea. With a practiced flick of his wand, the Charms professor sent a couple of lumps of sugar flying into his cup, and took a seat in the guest chair Snape had obtained for his office from a storeroom. Another flourish and a small footrest appeared which prevented the diminutive professor's feet from dangling a few inches off the floor.

Snape sat down behind his desk and refreshed his own cup.

"Professor Snape, I decided to seek you out after conversations I had with some students in my House, and later with Professor Sprout, this afternoon," Flitwick said.

"Yes?" Snape prompted.

"Professor Slughorn had his way of running his classes, and you, naturally, have your own. But – I think you may have been a trifle harsh with Miss Foster and Miss Pritchett today."

"Miss Pritchett?" Snape repeated, entirely at a loss. He remembered her well – the Muggle-born first year who had guessed the use of puffer-fish eyes in potion making and showed some inclination to think logically, at least after the fact. She had been a lone bright spot in an otherwise depressing day.

"She came to my office this afternoon and told me she thought she should quit school," Professor Flitwick recounted.

"Whatever for?" Snape asked, surprised. "I can't speak to her performance in any other classes, but she performed acceptably in Potions. Once she learns some basics, she will make a more than competent student. She does well applying her Muggle learning to magical problems. She _is_ Muggle raised, is she not?"

"A Muggle-born, yes," Professor Flitwick replied. "How did you know that?"

"I deduced it from her answers in class. Being in Slytherin does not preclude knowledge of the Muggle world," Snape replied evasively.

He continued, "Unlike most of her classmates, she seems capable of logical thought. Once she learns some basics, I am confident she will be an adequate student. Feel free to tell her I said so."

Flitwick did not respond immediately to this explanation. It occurred to Snape that perhaps Flitwick wanted _him_ to do something about the problem. Belatedly, he offered, "Or, if you prefer, I could tell her myself, Professor."

"Oh no!" Flitwick responded hastily. "No, that will not be necessary. I will speak with her myself."

"Miss Foster, on the other hand, created a disturbance in my class which contributed to a situation that resulted in an injury to a fellow student. Fortunately not a serious injury, but it could have been," Snape explained.

"It was an accident," Flitwick objected.

"I am aware of the circumstance which prompted her ill-considered action, but I stand by my decision," Snape said reluctantly. He respected his old teacher, and he did want to do well in his new position, but he was certain he had been right to make an example of Miss Foster and Mr. Stebbins in that class.

"I see," Flitwick replied. "Understand, Professor, that I am not asking you to reconsider your decision. Just – Miss Foster, and the Hufflepuff boy she startled, are first years. A five or ten point deduction seems a very big deal to a first year student. We, and I feel I speak not only for myself and Professor Sprout, but for the rest of the teachers as well, would not take more than a point or two from a first year student unless the circumstances were truly exceptional."

"I see," said Snape. He had not been aware of this unwritten rule, but he could certainly comply with it if it was the custom.

"I will be sure to keep that in mind in the future, Professor Flitwick. Thank you for bringing these matters to my attention."

"It was my pleasure," Flitwick replied, setting his teacup down on the desk and rising to his feet. "Well, I should be getting on. Thanks for the tea – the house-elves at Hogwarts do a fine job!"

Snape rose to escort his guest to the door.

"Good day, Professor Flitwick," he said.

"See you at supper!" Flitwick replied with a wave, as he left the room.

Snape shut the door thoughtfully, wondering what other mysteries of teaching at Hogwarts he still needed to learn.


	7. Schooldays and Spy Games

**Chapter 7: Schooldays and Spy Games**

His final class of the day over, Snape returned to his office to find a message from Madam Pomfrey under his door. Apparently, Michael Timms, one of his third years, had somehow managed to get himself bitten by a powerfully venomous snake that morning. He was in the hospital wing receiving treatment. Timms had made no impression – Snape could not even picture how the boy looked. Actually, that was a point in his favor, Snape thought sourly. Unlike the other dunderheads he had dealt with over the last month or so, this one at least had managed not to create a disaster in class. Yet. The injury he sustained might indicate a previously unexpressed gift for idiocy, however.

He supposed it was his duty as Head of House to investigate the incident. Glancing at his watch, he decided he could get started immediately. It should not make him late for his meeting with Dumbledore.

Dropping the large pile of essays he had collected from his fifth years on his desk, he went to find Timms. Once at the hospital wing, Snape glanced around quickly at the three patients. The only one wearing a Slytherin tie was a plump boy with mousy brown hair who upon closer examination did look familiar. He was sitting up in bed perusing a magazine. A bandage had been neatly tied around the boy's lower leg, which was raised up on a pillow.

"Mr. Timms," Snape addressed him softly as he stopped at the side of the bed. The boy started nervously.

"Professor Snape," the boy responded with surprise, and put down his magazine.

"Madam Pomfrey is concerned about the presence of a snake at school. Where was it that you encountered the animal?" Snape asked.

The boy looked up at him, fixing his eyes on Snape's in a suspicious display of frankness. Snape met his gaze, fairly certain he was about to be told a cock-and-bull story.

"My dorm, sir," Timms said, and Snape caught a flash of a memory involving the Slytherin Common Room. Just as he had suspected, the boy was trying to hide something from him.

"Indeed?" Snape asked quietly. "Have you any idea how it came to be there?"

"I was practicing _Serpensortia_," the boy answered. "I just did not Vanish the serpent in time."

An image of a group of students, accompanied by a flicker of fear, wavered into view in his mind as he spoke. Snape distinctly made out a familiar face. Violetta Burke, sixth year Prefect, had been present at the incident. Very interesting….

"I see. Well, I suggest you work on your Vanishing spells then, Mr. Timms," Snape suggested.

"Yes sir, I will," the boy answered earnestly.

"Will you be spending the night?" Snape inquired. The boy nodded.

"Madam Pomfrey wants to give me some more antidotes overnight. I'll be out tomorrow morning, she said."

"Good," Snape said. "See that you follow her instructions."

"I shall, sir. Thank you," Timms replied.

Snape left the room and walked in the direction of the Headmaster's office. He hadn't chosen to confront Timms with his lie - it was an option he could always exercise later, if further investigation turned up no more useful information. It behooved him to find out a bit more about Timms, to start.

"Bull's eyes," Snape said to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. As the statue moved aside in response to the password, Snape stepped onto the stone staircase that appeared and rode it up to the door of the office.

"Come in!" he heard in response to his knock.

Opening the door, Snape saw Dumbledore standing with McGonagall in front of the large desk at the far end of the room.

"Ah, Severus, right on time! Minerva and I were just finishing up," Dumbledore said. To his amusement, the pocket watch sitting on his desk chimed the hour just as Snape stepped inside.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," McGonagall said courteously, smiling at Snape. "I trust things are settling down a bit in your classes?"

Dumbledore noted a slight stiffening in Snape's posture at the question. The young did tend to take themselves so seriously, and Severus was surely no exception.

Snape was suddenly sure that Sprout and Flitwick had spoken about their concerns with her as well.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster, Professor McGonagall," he replied smoothly, allowing no trace of his discomfiture to show in his voice or expression. "Indeed, I am becoming familiar with the students, and they with me and my expectations for the class."

"I am pleased to hear it," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. Apparently, all of the staff were amused by his performance to date, Snape thought with chagrin.

"Excellent," McGonagall concurred. "Do let me know if I can be of any help."

Well, since she was offering, Snape thought to himself, Timms was a third year, and Transfiguration was a required class. Perhaps she _could_ help.

"Thank you, Professor," he responded. "Indeed, there is something. You know Michael Timms, I presume?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Naturally," she replied. "He is a quiet boy, nothing remarkable in his grades. Transfiguration, I fear, is not his strong suit. In fact, I took ten points from him only yesterday. He really needs to prepare better for my class."

"I see, Professor. You've been most helpful," Snape told her, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Dumbledore wondered what about this seemingly bland assessment had aroused the interest of the newest addition to his staff.

"Why do you ask?" McGonagall inquired curiously.

"A minor incident put him in the hospital wing earlier today. Nothing you need to worry about, Professor McGonagall," Snape answered. The picture was clear to him now. He just needed to decide how best to handle the matter.

"Well, then, I will leave you two to your meeting. Good day, Albus, Professor Snape," she said. After they too wished her a good day, she left, closing the door behind her.

Dumbledore walked around behind his desk.

"Please, have a seat," he invited Severus, as he sat down in his own chair.

"I presume Madam Pomfrey has the snakebite well in hand?" Dumbledore asked as Severus seated himself in the chair Minerva had recently vacated. Severus's question for Minerva had reminded him of the morning's incident.

Dumbledore's knowledge of this detail made Snape wonder whether Dumbledore had called the meeting just to discuss Timms. Was he really doing so poorly that he would not be trusted to handle the incident on his own?

"She does," Snape agreed. "The boy will be up and about tomorrow morning."

"And the snake?" Dumbledore asked.

"Mr. Timms assured me it was an unfortunate accident," Snape replied, seeking to downplay the incident without actually lying. "The snake has been Vanished."

If a year of receiving Severus's reports had taught him anything, Dumbledore thought, it was that the precise wording of the first part of his statement was no accident.

"I note that you do not so assure me," Dumbledore stated, with just a hint of a smile.

"It was surely unfortunate," Snape shrugged his shoulders. His face hardened. "Not just for Timms, if it was not an accident."

"I see. Shall I expect to hear more from you if it was not, then?" Dumbledore asked

"If you wish, Professor," Snape replied reluctantly. Even if his worst suspicions proved true, and he suspected they might not, the matter was hardly something that required outside intervention.

The sudden return to formality in Severus's speech was not lost on Dumbledore. He felt himself being second-guessed, and he didn't like it.

"Not if you were you planning to handle it yourself. I admit to some curiosity, though," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

"If it was no accident, Mr. Filch and I can always use some extra sets of hands to help out with cleaning and ingredient preparation," Snape shrugged. "If it was, well, Professor McGonagall kindly pointed out to me that Timms would benefit from some tutoring in Transfiguration. I believe I know just the person to provide it."

"Good," Dumbledore said, satisfied. "Mr. Timms is not, however, the reason I asked you to come by." Severus's gaze sharpened, betraying his interest.

"Have you had any word from Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Snape replied, "I've heard nothing since I came to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore had expected that answer. Otherwise, Severus would certainly have reported the contact to him.

"Would you have a way to contact Lord Voldemort, if I asked you?"

"He gave no instructions at our last meeting, as you saw," Snape replied. "I suppose if I needed to, I would write something suitably vague to Lucius and see what happens."

"I would like you to try, Severus."

"As you wish, sir. Is there anything in particular you want me to pass on?" Snape asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, I have a bit of news for you to share with Voldemort," Dumbledore answered him. "The Potters have agreed to hide themselves under the Fidelius Charm."

That was definitely a piece of news the Dark Lord would want to have, though not a piece of news he would like. Not that he really cared, Snape decided. It was the best news he had heard in quite some time. However, it did seem too big a secret to give up, just to provide Snape with something to report.

"Why pick such an important piece of information to pass on to the Dark Lord?" Snape asked.

"They will, naturally, start telling people close to them of their plans," Dumbledore answered him.

Of course. People close to them would include the spy whose identity Snape had failed to sniff out in the time since Dumbledore had recruited him.

"Ah yes, the spy," Snape said. "You are right, of course. The Dark Lord will learn of it anyway."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Your story will be that you were not told by the Potters," Dumbledore explained, "since their present and future locations are not known to you. You were told by me, out of consideration for your remorse over having placed them in danger."

"Very well, sir," Snape agreed. "I _am_ glad to hear it," he added.

"It should help shore up the tale you told Voldemort," Dumbledore remarked, "and provide you with evidence of your success in your new role, which you will need at some point."

"Yes, it will," Snape agreed. "Well, if that is all, I have a letter to write. If we're doing this, I might as well try to get the news to the Dark Lord first."

"Indeed," Dumbledore concurred, rising to escort his guest to the door.

As soon as he got back to his office, Snape sat down at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. The letter had to be completely innocuous, in case the Ministry was monitoring Lucius's mail. Yet it had to convey, somehow, that he had information to pass on to the Dark Lord. He thought for a few seconds, then picked up his quill and started writing.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_I am writing to thank you for the assistance you provided in my pursuit of my present position at Hogwarts. I know that my success would have been impossible without your invaluable support._

That ought to grab his attention, Snape decided. Naturally, he had written Lucius a very proper thank-you letter the very day his appointment had been confirmed, and had since received a reply. Receipt of a second thank you ought to make Lucius take a closer look.

_I wish you to know that the school year has begun well. I am learning to perform my duties as Head of House and Potions master, and I enjoy the full trust and confidence of the Headmaster. In other words, our efforts are already bearing fruit._

Surely, the use of the words "Headmaster" and "trust" would be enough for Lucius to guess that "our efforts bearing fruit" was not a reference to young minds acquiring Potions skills. If, indeed, the young minds in question were capable of such….

_Sadly, my new responsibilities keep me away from our mutual friends. I hope it will not prove too great an imposition on our friendship to ask that you pass this news of my success on to them as well._

_I look forward to the opportunity to thank you in person when my duties permit. Until such a time, I remain,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

That should do it. Snape looked it over one last time and then sealed the letter in an envelope and sought out the Owlery. It was quite a walk to the top of the West Tower from the dungeons, time Snape spent mulling over his little problem.

Clearly, some older students had decided to hassle Timms over his loss of House points, and Timms was afraid to report them for fear of later retaliation. Whether the snakebite was planned, or just an accident that resulted from the harassment was unclear, though considering the first possibility made him quite angry. The reason for Miss Burke's failure to prevent or report the incident was also not entirely clear. Was she involved herself, or was it just that, in her five years at Hogwarts, she had come to consider this sort of incident business as usual? He could certainly understand how she might have formed such an opinion, having been on the receiving end of such attentions himself a time or two.

Finding a talkative witness would be nice – but how to do it? He did not yet know his students well enough to judge whom he ought to approach first. Miss Burke had the answers to all of his questions, though…

Once at the Owlery, Snape attached the letter to one of the school's owls and sent it off to Malfoy. That was the solution, he realized. He would to convince Miss Burke to tell him what happened. The easiest way to do that would be to convince her that he already knew. A task for which his last year had prepared him admirably, he judged. If he could not manage to intimidate a snobbish schoolgirl, he would do better to resign from the other work he was doing for Dumbledore.

Just before supper, Snape had sent notes to all six of the Slytherin prefects and the Quidditch Captain, asking them to meet in his office than evening. For the occasion, he had conjured a couple of old sofas from a storeroom to supplement the two chairs he had in his office already. They gave off a somewhat moldy smell and had threadbare upholstery, but they would serve. He could get rid of them immediately afterwards.

As his guests trickled in, he questioned them casually about day-to-day aspects of their responsibilities. Miss Hamilton, the seventh year Quidditch captain, declared herself pleased with the way her two new Beaters were learning to work together, compared to the team's first practices. Miss McMillan, seventh year Prefect, was happy to report that the first year girls, especially one she had worried about in September, seemed to be getting over the usual homesickness and nerves, were all making friends, and were getting into the swing of Hogwarts life. Fortunately, Mr. Yaxley, seventh year Prefect showed up at that point, or the motherly Miss McMillan might have gone on indefinitely, cataloguing the girls' successes, favorite classes, disliked dishes, and Merlin knew what else. Mr. Yaxley reported laconically that there were no problems with the boys either. Miss Burke reported on the activities of a committee she chaired of Prefects from other houses to arrange some fun activities during the Halloween weekend, which was coming up later that month.

Once they all arrived, Snape explained to them that the purpose of the meeting was simply to keep abreast of developments among the students, and give them an opportunity to bring up any concerns they might have. A discussion of Mr. Filch's list of prohibited items ensued, which Snape settled by pointing out that anyone unclear on the rules could go read the list on Filch's door. When it became clear no one had anything further to discuss, Snape told his guests they were free to go. As they all rose to leave, Snape stood up as well.

"Oh, while I have you all here, I'd like to take the opportunity to ask whether any of you know what happened with Mr. Timms this morning," he said glancing at each of the students in turn.

"I know he was bitten by a viper," Yaxley offered. "I had already gone down to breakfast, though, so I only know what I've heard."

"He came running into the Common Room from the dorms," Miss Burke said. "He'd been bitten."

"So none of you know what happened?" Snape asked. A chorus of "Nos" answered him.

"Well, that's all, then. If you do hear anything I should know about it, come by my office." Snape opened the door. As the students started to file out, he added, as if by an afterthought. "Oh. Miss Burke, if I might have another minute of your time?"

She stopped, and nodded, letting the others file past her. Snape closed the door behind them with a word of farewell.

"Miss Burke, in the future, I would advise you not to lie to me," he said coldly.

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Sir?" she said.

"You may feel confident that Mr. Timms fears his housemates more than he fears me, Miss Burke," he said, "and in that you are correct. He stuck with your story."

Miss Burke did not reply. She wrinkled her brow in a show of incomprehension, but her lips had curled upward slightly at the news. He'd guessed correctly, she was sure Timms would back her story.

"I know, however, that it happened in the Common Room, and a number of other people were present," Snape added.

The little trace of a smile had vanished, he noted with satisfaction.

"I am offering you a one-time opportunity to tell me what really happened," Snape said flatly. "If you choose not to tell me, I will produce someone tomorrow morning who will. Then I will be happy to demonstrate to you that you should be a lot more worried about irritating me than about irritating your classmates. I will dock you enough points that Mr. Timms' recent lapse will be entirely forgotten, and you will be scraping cauldron bottoms every weekend for the foreseeable future. Your choice."

He would, too. If his bluff were called by Miss Burke, it would require considerable effort, but the flashes of memory he'd seen gave an impression of far too many people present for a secret to stay hidden.

"But I didn't do anything!" she said with a pout.

"That's precisely the problem," Snape replied softly. "You were there, but you did not prevent it, you did not report it, and you are trying to cover it up. If that's how you want it, you may leave. I will be speaking to you tomorrow."

"It was an accident, truly!" she exclaimed, looking up at him pleadingly. He could sense her sincerity. As she spoke, her memory of the event flickered into view, allowing him a glimpse of the ringleader's surprised face and the striking snake. Mr. Dunstan – Snape had seen him arm in arm with Miss Burke a few times. That explained her wanting to cover it up, anyway.

"They were only joking around, giving Timms a little scare," she added. "He should study for Transfiguration, for his own good and for the good of the house."

"And then the snake reacted badly to a raucous roomful of students," Snape stated.

"That's right!" she exclaimed in surprise, now seeming fully convinced he knew the whole story.

"Very well. Here's what we will do. You will talk to Mr. Dunstan and his friends. You will make it clear I know exactly what happened, and exactly who they are. He is to make sure that Mr. Timms meets with no further accidents, because if Timms so much as slips on a wet patch of pavement, Mr. Dunstan and his friends can look forward to spending their evenings assisting Mr. Filch in cleaning various public areas of the school. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," she said in a quiet voice.

"We are agreed, then," Snape said. "Oh, and Miss Burke?"

"Yes, Professor?" she asked timidly.

"You are, I recall, in Professor McGonagall's NEWT Transfiguration class," he said.

Miss Burke nodded confirmation.

"Professor McGonagall and I were discussing Timms today, and she mentioned he has been having difficulties in her class. I would appreciate it if you could spare thirty minutes a week to tutor him, until the term ends or his grades improve. For the good of the house."

Miss Burke flushed a bright red.

"Yes, Professor, I'll talk to him this weekend," she said quietly.

"Good night, then, Miss Burke," he said, opening the door to let her out.

"Good night, Professor," she mumbled, and hurried out of the room.

Snape smiled unpleasantly as he shut the door behind her and banished the sofas back to the storeroom whence they had come with his wand. A pile of the doubtless inane effusions of his fifth years awaited, but even that thought was not enough to wipe the smile off his face.


	8. In Vino Veritas?

**Chapter 8: In Vino Veritas?**

Snape sat in an armchair in the library of Malfoy Manor, a half-empty glass of the Malfoys' excellent elf-made wine in his right hand. A few of his fellow stragglers, their formal dress in various states of disarray, sat nearby, warmed by the blazing fire in the grand marble fireplace. Carved jack-o-lanterns lit by magical flames adorned the mantelpiece and windowsills. Snape's letter to Lucius had resulted in a prompt summons to a Death Eater meeting, at which Snape had reported the news about the Potters. As a result, he was now back in Lucius's good graces, just in time to be roped in for Narcissa's annual Halloween ball. He rather wished the Potters had made their decision just a week or two later….

He had no desire to socialize, let alone attend a formal ball, with Lucius, his important friends, and fellow Death Eaters. Yet he was acutely aware how limited his ability to procure useful information had become since he had started teaching. Any chance to mingle with his old crowd, where he might overhear some nugget of information, was not to be missed. Reluctantly, he had arranged to be free of all duties at Hogwarts until Monday, by volunteering to oversee the first Hogsmeade visit of the year, which had taken place earlier in the day.

Lucius rose to uncork yet another bottle of the excellent wine. Regretfully, Snape Vanished the rest of his on the sly. It was a shame to waste wine of that quality. He'd had very little; he could not risk getting drunk, and Lucius was sure to offer him some along with the others.

Bellatrix, he could see, had taken no such precautions. Her flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes revealed her inebriation. Rodolphus, his formal robes rumpled and stained with wine, had long since nodded off in an armchair, and she was looking for a source of amusement. Her glance settled on him.

"Snape," she said loudly, drawing the attention of the others present and raising her now-full glass, "I propose a toast to your position at Hogwarts. Finally, a task that suits you – toadying up to Dumbledore, where you no longer need to worry about how you will slither out of action."

Snape rose, keeping his expression neutral to hide his delight. The opportunity presented was perfect. No one would find his response to the insult suspicious, and getting Bellatrix angry was not only entertaining, but also a good way to get her to say things she should not. After Lucius refilled his glass as well, Snape raised it to Bellatrix in acknowledgment.

"My thanks, Bellatrix," Snape said smoothly. "I am pleased to have obtained such a responsible post. Spying on the leader of the Order of the Phoenix is far more meaningful than the harassment and elimination of a random Muggle now and again, exciting though such pursuits may be."

Bellatrix's cheeks flushed darker than the wine had already made them.

"Full of yourself now, aren't you, Snape?" she said. "You're not the only spy in the Dark Lord's service, and by no means the most useful or most valued."

"Useful enough," Snape replied coolly. "I enjoy the Dark Lord's favor as a result of my present successes, and I have brought the Dark Lord valuable information in the past, as well."

"You refer to the prophecy, I presume," Bellatrix retorted. "The Dark Lord does not care anymore, Snape. The Potters' days are numbered at last!"

"I regret the necessity to contradict a lady," Snape said, with a mocking bow in her direction. It was less than a week ago that he had sent the Dark Lord confirmation that the Fidelius Charm had been performed, so her information had to be wrong. Of course, it could simply be outdated. That would _really_ annoy her, he thought with a sneer.

"The Fidelius Charm has been cast on them already. I myself reported it to the Dark Lord," he explained.

"Nonetheless, the Dark Lord will shortly end their puny lives!" Bellatrix insisted heatedly.

"Impossible!" Snape stated flatly. "Unless…"

"…their Secret Keeper is a traitor," he finished under his breath, just barely speaking aloud the thought that had suddenly struck him like a bolt of lightning out of a blue sky.

Bellatrix seemed to realize that she had said too much and stayed silent as well.

"Enough!" Lucius hissed at Snape, at the same time shooting an angry look at Bellatrix.

Snape wanted only to get away with the news, as quickly as possible. He hardly dared to believe his good fortune, that the quarry he has sought for so long and at such cost had just fallen into his lap.

"My apologies, Lucius," Snape responded. "I must plead to having had too much of your excellent wine, and too much of your … delightful sister-in-law. I am not fit company anymore. I pray you will excuse me."

"Yes, I think it is time for us all to call it a night," Lucius agreed.

Snape went through the motions of saying goodbye to his host, as well as the remaining guests, who were also now preparing to leave. A combination of fierce elation and terrible anxiety gripped him. Bellatrix had let a huge secret slip out, and as a result, he had finally discovered the spy. Well, he did not know who the Secret Keeper was, but Dumbledore would know and could act. Snape tried to reassure himself that the Dark Lord was not right then attacking the Potters' hiding place. Surely he had learned the secret in time.

Once back at Hogwarts, Snape walked swiftly to Dumbledore's office. This was not a bit of news that would wait for morning. After giving the gargoyle outside his door the password and riding up the moving staircase, he pounded on the heavy oaken door with the brass griffin doorknocker .He received no response. Dumbledore was probably asleep – it was after two in the morning. He tried a second, protracted knocking on the door.

"Coming," he heard faintly from the rooms beyond.

Having thrown on his robe and kicked on his slippers, Dumbledore proceeded quickly to his office and opened the door. There stood Snape, in somewhat disheveled formal black robes. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily, as though he had arrived in great haste. His expression indicated profound emotional excitement.

"Come in, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Tell me what has happened."

Snape stepped inside and waited for Dumbledore to close the door behind them. The Headmaster was dressed in a white and lavender striped, tasseled nightcap, an oversized and somewhat threadbare flannel bathrobe in a purple plaid over an old-fashioned nightshirt, and fuzzy slippers. Snape considered the outfit ample confirmation of his guess that the Headmaster had been sleeping, but he gazed alertly enough through his half-moon glasses at Snape.

"I know who the spy is," Snape blurted out as soon as the door closed behind them. "It's the Potters' Secret Keeper!"

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, genuinely shocked.

"Black?" he asked. How could James Potter's best friend, who had left his family over their prejudice against Muggle blood and support of Voldemort, be the spy? Of course, the logical part of his mind reminded him, he had known the spy would be someone close to the Potters, and thus was going to be someone he would otherwise have considered above suspicion. Dumbledore shook his head regretfully.

"Sirius Black," he repeated.

"Black is their Secret Keeper!" Snape exclaimed. Black was the spy, and he had discovered it. It was almost too good to be true.

Severus seemed just as surprised as he was, Dumbledore noted, if rather more pleasantly.

"Severus, how do you know the spy is Black?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape was eager to give a fuller explanation, to share the details of his long hoped-for success. Yet even his sense of triumph, and his bitter satisfaction at learning that the spy was Black, could not quite wipe out the fear he had felt since Bellatrix had spoken of the Potters' danger, that the need to act was urgent.

"Pardon me, Professor," Snape said, "do you have a way to check on the Potters, before we take any more time? Bellatrix was vague, but gave the sense that the Dark Lord might be planning to move on the Potters any time now."

Dumbledore saw the sense in that suggestion, as well as the anxiety that prompted it. He turned to a portrait of a sleeping witch in deep blue robes of an archaic style, her round face framed by a white wimple.

"Ethelfleda, dear," Dumbledore said softly, rapping on the wooden frame of her portrait. The witch opened her eyes and looked about her dazedly, before her eyes came to rest on Dumbledore.

"Albus!" she said happily, daintily hiding a yawn with a bejeweled hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"If you would oblige me, please visit your portrait in the place I am not able to name," Dumbledore said. "We would like to check that nothing has happened to the people who live there."

"I'm going straightaway!" she said, lifting the long skirts of her robes and stepping out of sight.

She was back almost immediately.

"All's well!" she reported, beaming at Dumbledore. "Such a sweet baby, he reminds me of my dear grandson Irminric, such a good sleeper he was too…"

"Thank you, Ethelfleda," Dumbledore said to her with a smile.

"Anytime, dear. I love to visit them, such nice people!" she replied, settling her head against the frame and closing her eyes.

"Well, Severus, there you have it. The Potters are safe for the moment," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I would like to learn more about how you discovered the identity of the spy. But as you rightly pointed out, there are precautions I ought to take sooner rather than later."

Pleased to see how seriously the Headmaster was taking his news, Snape watched him walk over to his desk, pull a large wad of silvery-grey cloth from one of the drawers, and stuff it into one of the pockets of his bathrobe. Snape was somewhat surprised that it fit, given its apparent size. The weave must be very fine … which was the clue Snape needed to realize what he was seeing. Dumbledore had some use in mind for an Invisibility Cloak, then. Snape had never seen one before. They were costly items, but the cloth matched the descriptions he had read precisely.

"You can tell me all about it as we walk," Dumbledore said, taking his traveling cloak off the coat rack and pulling it on over his bathrobe. "So, how did you come to learn that Black is the spy?"

"I didn't learn the name of the spy, sir," Snape explained, following Dumbledore out onto the moving staircase outside his office door. "However, the spy has to be the Secret Keeper. Bellatrix as much as told me so herself."

"How did she come to be sharing such information with you?" Dumbledore asked, stepping out into the hallway.

"She was bored, I believe, and had too much to drink," Snape replied as the gargoyle moved back into place to hide the entrance to the office. "To amuse herself, she proposed a toast to my success, and described my assignment here in insulting terms."

"How so?" Dumbledore asked, as he set off towards the stairs to the entryway.

"Her usual," Snape said with a shrug, falling into step beside him. "Spying is my way to avoid more active involvement in the struggle."

"I see," Dumbledore said, as they entered a hallway adorned by many portraits. "And so you became angry?"

Dumbledore drew his wand and cast a charm to keep the portraits asleep as they passed.

"Me, angry?" Snape repeated with surprise. "No, but it seemed the perfect excuse to make _her_ angry. Anger and wine have led to indiscretions on her part before."

"Your stratagem seems to have succeeded tremendously, this time," Dumbledore remarked. "How did the subject of the spy come up?"

"When I boasted of my usefulness to the Dark Lord, she attempted to dismiss it by reminding me that he has better spies," Snape explained. "So I reminded her of the prophecy that I overheard, and she said that the Dark Lord no longer cares about that, since he will shortly kill the Potters."

"She could be mistaken, could she not, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "She may be referring to some older plan thrown awry by the news you sent last week."

"I considered that," Snape said, "so I did not let her remark stand. I let slip that the Fidelius Charm has already been cast. The news did not surprise her, and she insisted on her story."

"Could it be that she simply did not wish to admit her mistake?" Dumbledore asked.

They had stopped in front of the great ironbound doors of the castle. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore caused them to open. He stepped into the night air, waiting for Snape to follow before he caused the doors to shut again.

Snape considered the question as he strode toward the gates with Dumbledore. She had seemed only angry, to be contradicted, and to have allowed him yet another opportunity to demonstrate his success as a spy. Was she a good enough actress to hide her surprise at such news? He shook his head.

"I do not believe so. She showed no hint of surprise or shock at the news." Snape said.

Reluctantly, he added, "Also, I am afraid I betrayed the conclusion I drew from her insistence that the Fidelius Charm does not matter. That silenced her, and alarmed Lucius enough that he suggested we all leave."

"So the Dark Lord will learn that you know," Dumbledore observed.

Snape nodded. "Along with the few others who were still around and awake when Bellatrix gave it away."

He supposed the thought ought to make him nervous, yet the mistake had been entirely Bellatrix's. Once precautions were taken to protect the Potters, suspicion might again fall on him. Yet he was still too elated over his success to manage any worry.

They had now reached the gates. Dumbledore swiftly went through the process of undoing all the extra charms and devices that had been placed on the gates to secure the school.

"I don't want any specifics, like names," Snape said. "But, may I ask what you plan for protecting the Potters?"

If the news was indeed accurate, however distressing it proved for the Potters, Severus had earned an answer, Dumbledore decided.

"I will arrange for the hiding place to be watched by a rotation of Order members for now. I will also let the Potters know what I have learned. Monday night there is a meeting at which one of them will be present and we can discuss a more permanent solution," Dumbledore said.

The gates swung open, and Dumbledore stepped through.

"Would you be so kind as to close the gates behind me before you go off to bed, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "I am eager to expedite those arrangements."

"Yes, sir," Snape agreed.

"Good night then, Severus," Dumbledore said, "and thank you."

Before Snape could reply, with not even a whisper of sound, Dumbledore vanished.

I would like to thank Chamber of Secrets Forums member **gavina **for his assistance with this chapter. He kindly served as a sounding board for my ideas, and suggested that Dumbledore would put Godric's Hollow under surveillance by Order members using James' Invisibility Cloak in response to the news Snape brought.


	9. Hogsmeade

**Chapter 9: Hogsmeade**

Snape stood in the dark passageway between two adjacent buildings, his cloak wrapped around him to ward off the chill night air as he watched the door of the Hog's Head Inn. He had followed Dumbledore there furtively, using every trick he had learned or invented in the last year to escape detection. The Headmaster had promised to pass Snape's warning on to the Potters when they last spoke, and Snape trusted that he would do so. For some reason the Potters had not accepted Dumbledore's offer to be their Secret Keeper. So it was possible they would not listen to him now. He had to try, himself.

If Lily came to the meeting, he was determined to tell her the whole sorry mess. He was sure she would never forgive what he had done to her son, but … at least she would still be alive. If it was only Potter, he could still try to convince him of the danger.

The sign over the inn door creaked as the door opened and a few people left. In the glow of a lantern, Snape recognized Dumbledore's friend, the well–known Auror Moody. Doubtless an Order member, Snape thought. This meant the meeting was starting to breaking up. He wished there were some way to do this without seeing any Order members, since he preferred to know as little as possible that might be of use to the Dark Lord. In this instance, it was the only way to achieve his goal. Because the Potters were hiding under the Fidelius Charm, he could only find them on occasions when they ventured forth from their home.

A few more people trickled out the door, but not Snape's quarry, not yet. Then another group stepped out, and Snape instantly recognized James Potter. Lily was not with him, Snape saw. Disappointment mingled with a shamed relief, that he would not after all have the opportunity to tell her what he had done. Cautiously, Snape followed Potter and the others as they walked back to the main street of Hogsmeade village. At the corner, Potter said his farewells to his companions and set off to his left, while they turned right.

Dropping all his efforts at stealth, Snape followed Potter, striding rapidly to catch up. Suddenly Potter spun about, and before Snape could open his mouth, he found himself looking at the tip of Potter's wand. Instinctively his hand reached towards his own wand, as he inwardly cursed Potter's devilishly quick, Quidditch–honed reflexes. Remembering his purpose, however, Snape moved his arms back down and spoke.

"Potter, I would like a word with you," he said evenly.

Potter relaxed slightly, but kept his wand raised. "Make it quick, then, Snape," he responded.

"Your secret is not safe," Snape said.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," James responded loudly. It was obviously a rehearsed answer. Snape had learned to deliver his lies a lot more smoothly, in the last year. It figured that Potter would decide to play stupid. Snape nearly ground his teeth in frustration.

"You are hiding your family under the Fidelius Charm," Snape explained quietly, "but–

"Dumbledore has a point, the Order _is_ leaking like a sieve, I see," James said with a snort. Snape bit back a sharp retort, and took a deep breath.

"The Order is not the problem. The problem is that your Secret Keeper is in the Dark Lord's pocket," he persisted.

"The Dark Lord!" Potter said, his tone contemptuous. "Say who you mean: Voldemort."

Snape paled at the name. He could see that his reaction to the Dark Lord's name brought a little smile to James's lips.

"'Lord' indeed. He's no lord," Potter added.

"Call him what you will, Potter, it won't change the facts," Snape said angrily. "He can find you and your family."

"And you doubtless learned this trailing after your pureblood, Dark Arts loving friends, Snape, along with that pet name you use for Voldemort?" Snape took an angry step forward, fists clenched, and found himself with Potter's wand in his chest.

He stopped and, having noticed they were clenched, forced himself to relax his hands at his sides.

"Yes," he responded coldly. "That's exactly right."

"If any such thing were true," James remarked, "it would certainly not get discussed in front of a poseur such as you. I admit Sirius and I expected you to run out and sign up with Voldemort the moment we all had finished school. But Lily has talked about you, and I have come to realize that she was right. It must have been tough, being in Slytherin House with a Muggle father, so you studied the Dark Arts to fit in."

Snape suppressed an urge to scream in frustration. It was Lily who had misjudged him. Potter had been right after all, but would he believe it now?

"And if I told you I am a Death Eater?" Snape asked quietly.

James laughed. "I don't know what Albus Dumbledore is thinking in hiring you to teach at Hogwarts, but I am sure he would not hire a Death Eater."

"You are still as arrogant as ever, I see. You know everybody's business better than they do. I could almost walk away, and wait for the inevitable to happen. It would not," Snape finished venomously, "be a long wait."

"Please do, Snape," said James. "I have a family to get back to. Go give some poor student a detention or something."

"That's right, you do have a family. It's nice to see that you remember it. It would be a pity to hear that they'd died with you. What can it hurt, to listen to me? Take them away for a bit, or accept Dumbledore's offer–"

"I already told Dumbledore: Sirius would die rather then serve Voldemort in any way!" James said heatedly.

"So it is Black," Snape said, curling his lip. "I don't know how the Dark Lord turned him: threats, promises, lies, but he has done it."

"And why should I believe you?" Potter asked.

"You once prevented me from getting killed because of Black. I am trying to return the favor," Snape said through his teeth.

"It is still all about school for you, isn't it, Snape? I'll hear no more ill said of Sirius," James said. "Good night!" he added, stepping aside to walk past Snape.

Snape grasped his arm as he passed. "I'm telling you the truth!" he exclaimed heatedly as James jerked his arm free.

"This conversation is over," Potter declared, and walked on.

Snape hurried after him and stepped out in front of him.

"It was I who overheard the Prophecy, Potter," he said.

Potter raised his wand. "If that's true, I should like to kill you where you stand. I am certainly not going to waste any more time bandying words with you. I am going to walk away, and Disapparate. If you attempt in any way to detain me, you will be sorry."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground and stepped back to let Potter pass. He watched as Potter walked on towards the Three Broomsticks and Disapparated, with a sinking feeling of being forced to watch an impending disaster that he was powerless to prevent.

Once Potter was gone, Snape started walking dispiritedly in the same direction, back towards the school. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Snape jumped in surprise, and then turned, to find the Headmaster regarding him seriously over his half–moon glasses.

"It was a good try, Severus," said Dumbledore gently.

Snape shook his head wordlessly.

"Come, let's walk back to the school," Dumbledore said, and quickened his step. Snape fell in alongside. As they passed the Three Broomsticks, Dumbledore exchanged greetings with patrons leaving the pub, while Snape waited.

"I lost my temper," Snape muttered, as they left the village. Dumbledore merely continued walking.

"Perhaps, if I hadn't insulted him –" Snape did not complete his thought.

Anything was possible, Dumbledore thought, but that encounter had been doomed from the start. Letting Severus blame himself for his failure did not serve any purpose. If he had thought revealing the source of his information to James would help, he might have done it himself.

"James is adamant," Dumbledore stated. "He is convinced Sirius is completely trustworthy. I am inclined to think he may be right in this. At any rate, I did not lose my temper, and I had no more success than you," Dumbledore added with a smile.

"But the information I heard was quite suggestive," Snape disagreed.

"I have been thinking. Voldemort must have started to give some thought to the events that have occurred. The Potters' amazing luck to date, the run-ins certain Death Eaters have had with Aurors, Order members rescued by the unexpected arrival of friends … we feared his anger at you this summer might reflect some suspicions on his part. Perhaps he is starting to float some misinformation among his followers, to see what comes of it."

Snape considered this possibility. It seemed unlikely Bellatrix had been acting, but she could have been misinformed herself. Perhaps the Potters were truly safe. In which case, the danger would have been to him, had the Potters acted on his warning.

"I should not have come," he said to Dumbledore. "You told me that you would warn them."

"I understand why you had to speak to him yourself," said Dumbledore. "The head cannot always lead; there are times when you must let your heart decide."

Snape looked down at the road and drew his cloak tightly around him with his hands. He didn't care to contradict the Headmaster, but he knew better. It might be true of other men, but never of him. It was his heart that had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and his heart that had just caused him to lose his temper with Potter.

Dumbledore looked at his companion. Severus's body language spoke eloquently of his rejection of the sympathy he was offered: shoulders hunched, hair hanging down on either side and hiding his face, arms tucked inside his cloak. The disappointment probably seemed that much greater, following as it did what might have been Severus's biggest success as a spy to date. Perhaps it was not the right time to discuss the matter further, Dumbledore decided.

They walked together in silence to the gates to the castle. Snape drew his wand and cast the incantations to open the padlocked gates, and then closed them after he and the Headmaster had passed through.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"You are welcome," Snape replied stiffly.

They continued together to the Entrance Hall, where they said their goodbyes. Dumbledore ascended the wide marble staircase to the first floor, and headed to his office. Snape opened the door located to the side of that staircase and descended into the dungeons. Between time spent supervising the Halloween Feast and his unsuccessful trip into Hogsmeade, he had a late night in front of him, for he had gotten no grading done that afternoon.

Snape put down the quill he has been holding and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his hooked nose. He had hoped that grading would distract him from his disgust over his confrontation with Potter, but it was no use. He had marked the last five essays turned in by his first years from the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class with a T, and had been about to do the same for the sixth.

The idiots deserved it, he thought to himself, pushing away a memory of Potter, his stance displaying the casual arrogance Snape had always loathed, as he held Snape at wand point. Not only did the first years have no concept of the properties of even the most common magical plants, they could not string sentences together into a logical exposition of the little they did know. If, indeed, they could manage to write grammatical sentences at all….

Grading was definitely one of the downsides of his new job, Snape mused. Yet he normally managed enough restraint to avoid failing an entire class. Perhaps a walk in the dungeons would clear his head, and he could finish more quickly. Not to mention managing to assign higher grades, thereby avoiding a future visit full of motherly advice from Professor Sprout, concerned about her Hufflepuffs.

He rose from his chair and swept his cloak on over his black robes, in case he decided to step out onto the castle grounds. Closing the door behind him, he strode down the hallway, the cloak billowing behind him, and his wand tip lighting the way in the dark corridor. He glared at a portrait of a crotchety old wizard who complained of the light as he passed by.

As he approached the stairs leading up to the Entrance Hall, he heard a loud creak and felt a cold draft on his upturned face. Quickly and soundlessly, he jogged up the stairs, just in time to see the last sliver of moonlight disappear as the main doors to the castle shut. As he walked to the door himself, he transfigured a portion of one of the great wooden planks that made up the door into a sheet of clear glass. Through it, he saw clearly the figures of two students, who huddled together as they walked slowly in the direction of the groundskeeper's hut.

Snape returned the door to its natural state before opening it. He considered shouting at the students to come back, but he admitted to himself that he could probably give them a good scare if he did not. It would leave a more lasting impression than the House points he certainly planned to take, once he caught up with them, he reasoned.

With his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation of cold water trickling down from his head to his toes as his appearance blended into the surroundings, he set off after the students, relying on his longer legs and rapid movement to catch them up.

As he got closer, he could hear the two students talking.

"…really is haunted? They say Hagrid's pumpkins grow so large because he's planted them over an old graveyard…" one of them trailed off fearfully.

"I suppose _they_ have never heard of an Engorgement Charm?" Snape said clearly, as he countered the Disillusionment charm. The speaker gasped and spun around. His companion bit off a cry of fear as he nearly jumped out of his shoes.

Snape thought rapidly - one of the younger students, curly brown hair, tall for his age, Gryffindor colors. It was Matthews, he remembered, a second year, which meant that his companion must be O'Connell. The duo was an occasional source of problems in Potions class.

"Matthews, O'Connell, what is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded coldly. Matthews did not quite manage the unconcerned expression he was so obviously trying to assume. O'Connell, his freckled face pale in the moonlight, simply looked scared.

"Sir…" O'Connell said hesitantly, trailing off as his companion elbowed him in the ribs.

"Off to play a Halloween prank on the groundskeeper, were we?" Snape asked with a contemptuous curl of his lip.

"No!" Matthews burst out indignantly

"We were just going to the pumpkin patch at midnight, on a dare!" O'Connell offered.

"A dare?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "And just who was it that suggested to a pair of second years that they ought to violate curfew and leave the castle, I wonder?"

O'Connell shuffled his feet, his eyes downcast, while the bolder Matthews stared at him defiantly. Of course, they weren't going to tell him.

Snape shrugged his shoulders. "It's not my problem, anyway. Rest assured that I will be placing the question in the able hands of Professor McGonagall," he said. Matthews' face fell.

"Though, for being out of bounds after curfew, I will take twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape concluded.

"But sir-" began Matthews.

Just then, Snape felt a searing pain in his left forearm, far more intense than the usual summons from the Dark Lord, as bad, he rather thought, as the pain of his initial branding. He turned the exclamation of pain that threatened to burst past his clenched teeth into a loud shout of "EACH!" This served to stop Matthews arguing, anyway. As the pain increased, Snape added through clenched teeth, "Inside. GO!"

The boys, looking quite chastened, set off rapidly for the castle. Snape stood and watched them. The pain stopped completely, as suddenly as it had come. Another anomaly, for the burning of the Dark Mark usually faded away gradually. He considered what this might mean. Did this unusual summons indicate he was being summoned regarding a matter of great urgency? Alternatively, could it indicate he had been discovered? He considered not answering the summons, for a moment, before he thought, with a sinking feeling, that the summons might also portend the announcement of a great triumph. He would go, as soon as the two boys were back inside the castle. He had to know.

The boys were obviously eager to put some distance between themselves and him, but the wait as they approached the stairs and reentered the castle seemed endless. As soon as the great doors shut behind them, Snape ran for the gates. For the third time that night, he released and reset the spells that provided extra security to the school during the Dark Lord's present reign of terror.

Once outside the school grounds and the limits of its anti-Apparition wards, Snape focused his mind on his forearm and the remembered pain, and Disapparated. Opening his eyes, he was shocked to find that he still stood just outside the Hogwarts gates. Glancing around to ascertain he was not watched, he bared his left forearm. It was a pure, milky white in the moonlight, completely unmarred. He stared down at it, uncomprehending. The mark typically took hours to fade completely after it burned. This was doubtless the explanation for his failure to Apparate to the Dark Lord's side, but why was the Dark Mark gone?

Something very unusual was happening, Snape concluded. Despite the lateness of the hour, he resolved to seek out Dumbledore. Opening and shutting the gates again, Snape strode rapidly back to the castle. After the Halloween feast and a meeting with Order members, he, too, might still be awake and in his office.

**Author's Note:**

Snape, in PoA, said to Harry, "You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black –"

For some odd reason, just after I finished "Unintended Consequences", I happened to reread this line and the first scene of this chapter sprang into my mind fully formed. I wrote this story to give it a home.


	10. Godric's Hollow

**Chapter 10: Godric's Hollow**

"Candy corn," Snape snapped at the large gargoyle as he approached the hidden entrance to the office. It shifted aside to reveal the moving stairs, and Snape started climbing them two at a time without breaking stride. At the top of the stairs, he knocked loudly with the polished brass doorknocker.

"Come in!" he heard the Headmaster say. Snape opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.

Dumbledore was standing next to one of the several small tables in his office on which the Headmaster kept his collection of magical instruments. Snape deduced he had interrupted an investigation of some sort, as Dumbledore was still carefully putting one of the instruments back down on the little table where it was kept when Snape entered.

"Good evening, sir," Snape greeted him.

"Good evening, Severus," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Something strange just happened, that I thought you should hear," Snape told him.

"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted, his face taking on a look of concentration. 

"I received an unusual summons from the Dark Lord," Snape explained. "Far more…urgent, then usual. Abruptly, while I was still leaving the school grounds, it ceased completely. Once I did pass the gates, I attempted to Apparate to the Dark Lord's side, but found myself back where I had started. The Dark Mark on my forearm is gone."

"One reason it could fail is if he were in a location not his secret to share…" Dumbledore said, thinking aloud as he walked towards the portrait of the former Headmistress whose other portrait was in the Potters' hiding place. "Pardon me," Dumbledore said, rapping his knuckles sharply against its frame. The witch started, opening her blue eyes and shaking her head as if to clear it.

"Would you be so kind as to check up on them for me, Ethelfleda?" Dumbledore asked her.

"My pleasure," the witch replied brightly. "That Harry Potter is such a charming baby-" she said, her voice stopping abruptly as the last bit of the hem of her archaic robes disappeared from view. She reappeared almost instantly, looking quite worried.

"I can't see anything at Godric's Hollow. The portrait at #11 Gryffin Lane is no longer hanging on the wall!" she said.

Dumbledore paled. The portrait's disappearance from the wall of the cottage was a bad sign; far more ominous, Ethelfleda had just uttered the secret in the presence of Severus, which ought to have been impossible.

"She should not have been able to say that in front of me, surely?" Snape asked urgently.

Dumbledore's wand appeared in his right hand as if by magic, and he hurriedly waved it about as he muttered an incantation. Snape recognized it as a localized lifting of the anti-Apparition barriers of the school.

"Wait here!" Dumbledore commanded.

"I'm coming along," Snape contradicted him. Dumbledore nodded curtly as he Disapparated. Snape followed, before the traces of the Headmaster's passing grew too faint.

Dumbledore Apparated to the street out in front of the cottage, outside the Anti-Apparition wards he had helped to set. That something terrible had happened was instantly apparent – where the cottage had stood there was now a shambles. He turned first to the bushes where Mundungus was supposed to have been on duty.

Snape arrived in an unfamiliar location, to find Dumbledore ahead of him. In the moonlight, he could see a ruined building standing in an expanse of lawn, a row of trees separating it from the rest of a small village. Dumbledore had paused at a clump of shrubbery, and Snape saw what appeared to be someone's lower leg lying under it. The lack of accompanying gore was explained when Dumbledore bent down and grasped a handful of grass. As he straightened, it proved to be a large piece of silvery-grey cloth. The Invisibility Cloak, Snape realized, which had been concealing what appeared at first to be a pile of rags with legs sticking out. The pile quivered as it emitted a prolonged, grunting snore.

Mundungus was merely asleep, Dumbledore noted with relief, though the soundness of that sleep was suspicious and worthy of further investigation once time allowed. Dumbledore stuffed the cloak inside his robes and proceeded swiftly down the graveled walkway that had led to the front entrance of the cottage. He stopped abruptly at the threshold, and Snape caught up with him.

At their feet, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the night sky, lay James Potter. There was not a mark on him, but Snape had seen that expression of shock before enough times to recognize a victim of the Killing Curse when he saw one. Heedless of the possible danger, Snape dashed into the rubble, lighting the tip of his wand.

"Lily!" he shouted. "Lily?"

Dumbledore followed behind him. Snape's precipitate entrance into the ruined cottage sent a portion of a wall tumbling down, but Dumbledore could see that Snape had jumped out of the way. The ensuing crash brought forth in answer a loud wailing.

Snape turned and clambered over the ruins of the house towards the sound. As he reached the top of a pile, he saw on the other side the source of the noise: a baby, with tousled black hair, sitting in his crib and crying loudly. The crib had been spared by whatever had destroyed the house.

Dumbledore, following behind, saw the baby too, and his eyes widened as he noted the livid red scar that marked the boy's forehead. The words of Sybill Trelawney in her prophetic trance returned to him: _"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not."_ Swiftly, he went over to pick the baby up and confirm the suspicion that has just entered his mind.

In the light cast by his wand, Snape saw a spill of bright red hair. Lily was lying on the ground in front of the crib. Dropping to his knees, Snape lifted her head carefully onto his lap. Unlike Potter, her face wore the calm expression of one sleeping soundly and her eyes were closed. Though he knew she would not have slept through the wailing of the baby above her, Snape gently brushed her hair out of the way and felt for her pulse. He had often wondered how it might feel, to touch that hair and that face. Her hair was as fine and smooth as the silk to which he had often compared it in his mind, the skin of her face and neck was warm and soft to the touch still as it must have been in life, but her heart beat no longer.

He had failed. How long he sat there, overcome by guilt and grief, he could not later recall. After all his efforts, after his warning, still, she was dead. Worse, he had only himself to blame, for his stupidity, his criminal thoughtlessness, in choosing to serve the Dark Lord. Better that he had died, somehow, on his way to the Dark Lord to tell what he had heard at the Hog's Head. That last thought brought to mind Potter's words, spoken only hours ago, not far from that establishment. _"Sirius would die rather then serve Voldemort in any way!"_

Abruptly Snape was filled with a rage like nothing he had ever known. He lowered Lily's head tenderly back down onto the rubble, and then looked about him for the wand he had carelessly discarded to check on her. Grasping it in his right hand, he rose to his feet.

Dumbledore, now standing beside him, gripped his shoulder, whether in sympathy or to restrain him, Snape could not bring himself to care. Without even a glance at the Headmaster, Snape pushed past him and scrambled back whence he had come.

"Severus!" the old man said, his voice ringing with command.

Snape did not even flinch. The sound seemed to be coming from far away, and had no connection to him.

Dumbledore flicked his wand in a complicated gesture over his head, and the air surrounding the foundations of the cottage thickened to form a barrier a man could not pass. He was not sure where Severus was going or why, but the rictus of hate twisting his harsh features suggested it was to no good purpose. After all Severus had done in the last year, he could not simply watch him throw his life away and make no attempt to get through to him. Moreover, if what his cursory examination of the boy suggested was true, he would still be needing Severus.

As he reached again the body of James Potter, lying in the rubble, Snape walked right into an invisible barrier that prevented him from going any further. Taking a step back, he blasted the barrier with the most potent counter-spells he knew, and then threw himself at it again. It had survived his counter-spells; he bounced off it. Feeling strangely out of breath, he paused to consider his next move.

"Unless you think you can lift my anti-Apparition jinxes instead, Severus, I suggest you speak with me," Dumbledore said from behind him.

Snape spun around and went back to confront Dumbledore, his wand raised.

"LET ME GO!" he shouted.

The Headmaster stood near the crib where Snape had left him. He held the baby in the crook of his left arm, the blanket wrapped around it warding off the chill night air. The baby's loud wails had quieted some. Dumbledore must have seen to the baby while he was kneeling on the floor next to Lily.

"Hush now," Dumbledore murmured reassuringly down at Harry, who had started at Snape's yell.

"Where are you going?" the Headmaster inquired of Severus with a mild expression, as he bounced the baby in his arm.

Snape wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, to shake that hateful calm on Dumbledore's face. How, in the face of what had happened, could he be calm? But it would accomplish nothing. He would save his energy to use where it was best directed.

"I am going to kill Black," Snape stated flatly, and lowered his wand. Dumbledore could not keep him there forever, and his resolve was not going to change, he thought defiantly. He took a deep breath, for his lungs seemed not to be working properly.

Dumbledore gazed at him over his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes grave. He felt sickened by the needless loss of life that night. The murder of Sirius Black by Severus and resulting life sentence, or Severus's death at Black's hands, would serve only to raise the count of squandered young lives.

"Leave him to the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "They will soon learn of Black's role in the murders."

"You're not going to talk me out of it!" Snape told him. "You might as well let me go." He noticed suddenly that he was shaking.

"I will," Dumbledore agreed, "after we talk."

"He's a traitor. He sold out his best friend to the Dark Lord. He deserves to die!" Snape said vehemently.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Severus had reached the point of trying to justify his decision. Perhaps, soon, he would be ready to listen.

Snape stared back, his face stony. He'd made his point, he told himself. If Dumbledore wanted to talk him out of it, he could outwait him. He stood silently, watching as Dumbledore soothed the baby and then set it back down in the crib, asleep.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, "you are quite right that if you choose to throw your life away in an empty gesture of revenge against Black-"

"Empty!" Snape spat.

"Black did not kill them, Severus," Dumbledore pointed out quietly.

"If not for him, they would still be alive," Snape contradicted him.

Dumbledore gave him a long, penetrating look. Snape, suddenly reminded that the same could be said of him, lowered his eyes, and then averted them hastily from the sight of Lily's body.

The body language was not lost on Dumbledore.

"As I was saying, I cannot prevent you from throwing your life away. But, as a favor to me, could I ask you to first briefly assist with a matter of some importance to me?" Dumbledore asked.

"What matter?" Snape asked brusquely.

"What do you think happened here, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired.

"The Dark Lord came here and killed the Potters!" Snape answered.

"Why would he do that?" Dumbledore followed up.

"Because of the prophecy, of course," Snape spat the words out bitterly. This was a transparent attempt to make him feel guilty, then, as if such a thing would change his mind now. Utterly pointless, for he did feel guilty, more than Dumbledore could possibly imagine. But Black was also to blame, and for that, Snape would kill him. If after he saw to Black, he then rotted away in Azkaban or died a traitor's death on the Dark Lord's orders, it was no more than he deserved.

"Indeed. The prophecy," Dumbledore said. Softly, as if saying them to himself, he recited the words Snape had heard that accursed night two years ago, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

"So tell me, then, Severus, why is the baby still alive?" Dumbledore said into the silence that followed his utterance of the prophecy.

Snape stared at him, jaw hanging open momentarily. It was true, what Dumbledore said. In his grief, rage, and guilt, he had simply not given the circumstances any thought. Why would the Dark Lord leave the baby untouched in his crib after dispatching Lily and Potter? Something did not add up, here.

"Voldemort did try to kill Harry," Dumbledore explained to Snape. "The cut on Harry's forehead is all the effect his Killing Curse had before it rebounded at him."

"Then…the Dark Lord is dead?" Snape asked. Dumbledore seemed to consider the question a long time.

"It would make sense of your little conundrum with the Dark Mark," Dumbledore said, "but I have my doubts. Can you wait for a moment while I investigate?"

"Very well," Snape agreed grudgingly. As he watched, Dumbledore knelt on the rubble around the crib and carefully crawled all around it, feeling the entire area with his hands. He rose to his feet and wiped his hands off on the skirt of his purple velvet robe, leaving great dusty marks upon it.

"As I suspected," Dumbledore said. "I read the traces of Lily's death – the Killing Curse. Something unusual happened, though. Her death and her love, somehow, linger, and protect the boy. Her protection caused the spell of Voldemort to rebound upon him, which ought to have killed him. Yet I sense no trace of his final departure, nor can I find any indication that he fled, alive."

This account brought to Snape's mind a vivid image of Lily's final moments. The Dark Lord would have approached relentlessly, wand drawn and pointed straight at the baby in the crib. She must have stepped in front of him, barring his path, blocking the Killing Curse with her own body as it she could not block it with her magic…

And so she had died. The Dark Lord had killed her. The last of the rage at Black receded, swept away by a black wave of despair. She was truly gone, the one person who still regarded him as a friend, however little he deserved it. He shook his head, hopelessly, trying to clear his mind of these dark thoughts. The terrible emptiness remained, but he did jar loose a memory that might be of use to Dumbledore.

"I have heard it rumored that the Dark Lord has protected himself in some way from death," Snape said.

Dumbledore nodded, for that rumor had featured in one of Severus's reports. He now had the evidence before him that Voldemort had resorted to the darkest of dark magic to ensure his continued existence.

"I would like to make further investigations. From what I see here, I conclude that tonight was a temporary setback for Voldemort. If he is to be defeated permanently, I fear that it will fall to the boy."

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," Snape said, his lip curling. The sleeping baby certainly did not look like a vanquisher of Dark wizards. "If you are right, the boy has not done so. Divination is an uncertain field of magic, and prophecies do not have to come true."

"There is truth to what you say about Divination, Severus," Dumbledore admitted, "but it does not apply in this instance. Trelawney's prophecy is true. With my apologies, I will ask that you take my word for it. This morning, Harry Potter woke up a happy little toddler whose destiny did not have to be in any way remarkable. Tonight, he is the One."

Snape considered what Dumbledore had just told him. What made him so sure? It came to Snape suddenly – the accursed prophecy was incomplete. It did not just trail off mid-sentence; there was a second part! This later part that he had not heard, owing to the interference of the barman of the Hog's Head, must include some prediction pertinent to the night's events.

While Severus digested this information, Dumbledore made a couple of gestures with his wand, lifting both the physical barrier and the anti-Apparition jinxes on the location. He had done what he could for Severus – now he needed to leave himself.

"There. You are free to leave," he stated. "I should like to follow the faint traces I can still sense of Voldemort before they are too faint to detect. It might be important to know more precisely where and in what condition he survives. I can't leave the boy, though, he is the key. If you could stop by Hogwarts and send Hagrid to me, that would save me a bit of time."

"Can Hagrid Apparate?" Snape asked. The groundskeeper was certainly performing magic on the sly, as the size of his pumpkins indicated. Apparition, however, was difficult magic, especially for one so large.

"No," Dumbledore said. "But he has ways to get around. He'll be by before dawn, certainly."

That would mean hours lost, Snape realized. Not to mention the loss of any advantage Dumbledore might gain with complete information, if it proved too long. Black could wait a bit longer, he decided.

"Would you like me to take him back to Hagrid?" Snape offered dubiously. "You could continue your investigation immediately, if I did."

"I would rather not risk having you seen with Harry," Dumbledore said. "When Voldemort returns, though with luck that should be many years away, I want you to be able to say that you were at Hogwarts tonight."

"Surely finding out what has happened to the Dark Lord is more important?" Snape objected.

"If you could stay and watch over Harry until Hagrid arrives, we could accomplish both," Dumbledore suggested. "I would not have you risk exposure needlessly. As far as I am concerned, our arrangement still stands."

Snape nodded his head in agreement.

Dumbledore suppressed a smile. Having agreed to do it, Severus would stay. In the time it took Hagrid to get here, he would have plenty of time to think things over, and Dumbledore was confident he would reach the right conclusions.

"Excellent. Here, use this," Dumbledore said, tossing him the Invisibility Cloak.

As Snape caught it, he saw Dumbledore point his wand, and something silvery flew out of it and sped off into the night.

"There, I have sent a message to Hagrid," Dumbledore said. "Well, then, I'm off to pursue those traces. Good night."

"Good hunting," Snape replied.

As Snape covered himself with the cloak, Dumbledore clambered out of the ruin. Out on the lawn Snape could see Dumbledore consulting an instrument he had apparently pulled out of a pocket, before vanishing.

Snape was left standing alone in the rubble. Well, he corrected himself, not quite alone. There was the baby. For the first time that night, he took a careful look at the center of all the night's events. His mop of unruly black hair reminded Snape unpleasantly of the boy's father and their encounter earlier. Potter had been arrogant as ever, so sure he knew everything, so sure he could not be wrong about Black. And he was dead because of it. Snape could not bring himself to feel any regret for James – his arrogance had cost not only his own life, but Lily's as well. If he had only listened... His earlier doubts about his own role in that conversation returned to him, and he forced them away, looking back at the child in the crib.

His face, peaceful in sleep and round like that of any other baby Snape had seen, looked like no one in particular. Certainly, Snape could make out no trace of his mother in those unformed, chubby features. His forehead was disfigured by a jagged cut in the shape of a lightning bolt. It was no longer bleeding, but still stood out a livid red against the child's fair skin. Snape suspected it would scar, though if indeed the cause of the wound was the Killing Curse, that scar was a small price to pay for his survival.

Snape's eyes were drawn unwillingly back to Lily. That was the true cost, her life for her child's life. _Not worth it!_ Yet what choice had she had? To die before her child, as she had chosen, or to watch him killed, and live with that memory. That she had not done her utmost, that the death was something she might have prevented…he could almost envy her. He could. He did.

Sometime in the last year, he should have told her what he had done. He had not run into her once, but he could have arranged to see her, by owl or through Dumbledore. He had not. There had always been something else to do, there was the excuse that she should stay in hiding, that he was busy, but he knew the real reason he had not even tried. He had feared to see the friendly look in her eyes change to the cold contempt, or even hatred, he deserved. So now, instead, he could carry with him the memory of her face in the rubble, eyes closed forever.

Perhaps if he had told her, Potter would have believed him, this evening. Perhaps she would have taken the spy more seriously….

_Sirius Black._ Snape clenched his fists. He wanted to shout imprecations at him to the uncaring sky. No, really, he wanted to kill him. Damn Dumbledore anyway. He understood, now, why Dumbledore had stopped him, though. He, Snape, had lost everything that had made the game worth playing, but the game was not yet over, and he remained a useful piece, in a strategic position on the board. When the Dark Lord returned, he would have a part to play, if he was still around to play it. He could make his contribution to the defeat of the Dark Lord. Did he care, anymore? Perhaps he should go look for Black, after all…no; Lily had wanted her son to live, had died to give him that chance. It was the least Snape could do for her. He would wait for Hagrid, at any rate.

The Dark Lord was also to blame. He had turned Black, and he killed the Potters. Considered logically, if he was going to go kill anyone, it ought to be the Dark Lord. Snape bared his teeth in a horrible grin at the thought. Yes, he could talk about killing Black, but Snape had known, since he had first come to regret his decision to become a Death Eater, that the Dark Lord was an enemy beyond him. It was why he had so eagerly accepted Dumbledore's offer, a year ago. It had permitted him a measure of revenge against the Dark Lord, and enabled him once more to live with himself after all he himself had done in the Dark Lord's service.

Until tonight, his successes had been a source of satisfaction. A Death Eater arrested or killed based on his information, a life saved, a plan foiled, in these little ways he could strike back. In the face of his ultimate failure in the one thing that had mattered to him, they paled in significance. A small victory here, or another there, what did it matter to him?

Yet Dumbledore believed the final defeat of the Dark Lord possible, after tonight. That the baby he was watching over could make it happen. More, Dumbledore envisioned a role for _him_ in that future. A sudden insight into the enormity of the trust Dumbledore had just shown him robbed him momentarily of breath. After all he had done, despite his failures, _the Headmaster had just left that future in his hands_.

Abruptly Snape became aware of a form walking towards the ruins of the cottage on the road. He raised his wand under the cloak and watched cautiously as the figure neared. He almost hoped it was an enemy – his guilt, and the sense of obligation Dumbledore's trust awakened in him demanded an outlet. However, he recognized by the enormous size of the person approaching that it was Hagrid. The Hogwarts groundskeeper was dressed as usual in his enormous overcoat and boots, and carried his pink umbrella slung over his shoulder.

As Hagrid approached the house, Snape retreated a few paces, to stay out of Hagrid's way as he retrieved the boy. He watched as Hagrid discovered Potter, a sight that tore from his massive throat a howl of grief and brought him to his knees. The spontaneous and unaffected emotional response of the groundskeeper tore at Snape's heart; and for the first time that night he felt that tears might come, but he remembered the need to stay hidden. Clenching his teeth, he stood silently and watched as Hagrid continued onward and discovered Lily, before his cries awakened the baby. The baby's loud wailing, mercifully, distracted Hagrid, who immediately scooped up the baby in his cupped hands and cooed at him reassuringly.

His responsibility discharged, Snape retreated. Silently, taking care not to disturb anything, Snape crept out of the rubble and headed for the row of trees. From that distance, he felt sure, he could Apparate quietly enough that Hagrid would be none the wiser.

Briefly, he considered going in search of leads on Black. No, he resolved, he would go to Hogwarts as the Headmaster wished, while it was still early enough to conceal his absence. Perhaps in the coming days he might manage to learn information that could lead to the arrest or death of Black from one of his fellows without arousing suspicions; or, if he was really lucky, he might run into him some dark night himself. He would continue to play the role of a loyal Death Eater, for however long it proved necessary, until the Dark Lord's return and beyond. It could not cleanse him of his guilt, nor repay the trust Dumbledore had placed in him, but then, nothing could.

**THE END**


End file.
